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Books by 
EDITH O'SHAUGHNESSY 

A DIPLOMAT'S WIFE IN MEXICO. 

Illustrated. 
DIPLOMATIC DAYS. Illustrated. 



HARPER & BROTHERS. NEW YORK 
[Established 1817] 




Photograph by Ravell 
HILLSIDE HOUSES AND CHURCH TOWERS IN THE ZAPATISTA COUNTRY 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 



BY 



EDITH O'SHAUGHNESSY 

[MRS. NELSON o'sHAUGHNESSY] 

AUTHOR OF 

A Diplomat's Wife in Mexico 



ILLUSTRATED 




HARPER y BROTHERS PUBLISHERS 

NEW YORK AND LONDON 






NOV 1 9. 1 9! 7 



Copyright, I9I7, by Harper & Brothers 
Printed in the United States of America 
Published November, 191 7 

L-B 



S)GI,A477657 



CONTENTS 

Foreword xi 



First impressions of the tropics — Exotic neighbors on shipboard — 
Havana — Picturesque Mayan stevedores — Vera Cruz — The journey- 
up to Mexico City Page i 

II 

First visit to the Embassy — Adjusting oneself to a height of eight 
thousand feet in the tropics — Calle Humboldt — Mexican servants 
— Diplomatic dinners — Progress of Maderista forces . . Page i6 

III 

Mexico in full revolution — Diaz's resignation wrung from him — Mem- 
ories of the "King in Exile" — President de la Barra sworn in — Social 
happenings — Plan de San Luis Potosi Page 32 

IV 

First reception at Chapultepec Castle — First bull-fight — A typical Mexi- 
can earthquake — Madero's triumphal march through Mexico City — 
Three days of adoration Page 47 



Dinner at the Japanese Legation — The real history of the Japanese in 
Mexico — Dinner at the Embassy — Coronation services for England's 
king — The rainy season sets in Page 61 

VI 

Speculations as to the wealth of "the Greatest Ivlexican" — Fourth of 
July — Madero as evangelist — The German minister's first official 
dinner with the Maderos as the clou Page 69 



CONTENTS 

VII 

The old monastery of Tepozotlan — Lively times on the Isthmus — 
The Covadonga murders — The Chapultepec reception — Sidelights on 
Mexican housekeeping — Monte de Piedad Page 84 

VIII 

Elim's fourth birthday partj'' — Haggling over the prices of old Mexican 
frames — Zapata looms up — First glimpse of General Huerta — Ro- 
mantic mining history of Mexico Page 93 

IX 

The Virgen de los Remedios — General Bernardo Reyes — A descrip- 
tion of the famous ceremony of the "Grito de Dolores" at the 
palace Page 107 

X 

The uncertainty of Spanish adverbs — Planchette and the destiny of the 
state — Madame Bonilla's watery garden - party — De la Barra's 
"moderation committee" — Madero's "reform platform" . Page 120 

XI 

Election of Madero — The strange similarity between a Mexican election 
and a Mexican revolution — The penetrating cold in Mexican houses 
— Madame de la Barra's reception — The Volador . . Page 127 

XII 

Dia de Muertos — Indian booths — President de la Barra relinquishes 
his high office — Dinner at the Foreign Office — Historic Mexican 
streets — Madero takes the oath Page 141 

XIII 

Uprising in Juchitan — Madero receives his first delegation — The Ameri- 
can arrest of Reyes — Chapultepec Park — Sidelights on Juchitan 
troubles — Zapata's Plan de Ayala Page 153 

XIV 

The feast of GuadJupe — Peace reigns on the Isthmus— Earthquakes — 
Madero in a dream — The French colony ball — Studies in Mexican 
democracy — Christmas preparations Page 164 



CONTENTS 

XV 

The first Christmas in Mexico City — Hearts sad and gay — Pinatus — 
Statue to Christopher Columbus Page 179 

XVI 

Off for Tehuantepec — A journey through the jungles — The blazing 
tropics — Through Chivela Pass in the lemon-colored dawn — Ravages 
of the revolution — A race of queens Page 184 

XVII 

Gathering clouds — "Tajada" the common disease of republics — Recep- 
tion at Chapultepec — IMadero in optimistic mood — His views of 
Mexico's liabilities to America Page 198 

XVIII 

Washington warns Madero — Mobilization orders — A visit to the Escuela 
Preparatoria — A race of old and young — The watchword of the early 
fathers Page 206 

XIX 

A tragic dance in the moonlight — Unveiling George Washington's statue 
— The Corps Diplomatique visits the Pyramids of San Juan Teoti- 
huacan — Orozco in full revolt Page 217 

XX 

Madero shows indications of nervous tension — Why one guest of 
Mexico's President did not sit down — A no vena with Madame 
Madero — Picture-writing on maguey — Picnic at El Desierto — San 
Fernando Page 226 

XXI 

Mexico's three civilizing, constructive processes — A typical Mexican 
family group — Holy Week — "La Catedral" on a "canvas" of white 
flowers — Reply of the Mexican government Page 245 

XXII 

The home of President Madero's parents — Senor de la Barra returns 
from Europe — Zapatistas move on Cuernavaca — Strange disappear- 
ances in Mexico — Oil— The President and the railways . Page 254 



CONTENTS 

XXIII 

The "Apostle" begins to feel the need of armed forces — A statesman 
"who is always revealing something to somebody" — Nursing the 
wounded at Red Cross headquarters Page 269 

XXIV 

One Indian's view of voting — Celebrating the King's birthday at the 
British Legation — A single occasion when Mexican "pillars of so- 
ciety" appear — Reception at Don Pedro Lascurain's . Page 279 

XXV 

Orozco and his troops flee toward the American border — A typical 
conversation with President Madero — Huerta's brilliant campaign 
in the north — The French f^tes — San Joaquin .... Page 295 

XXVI 

Balls at the German Legation and at Madame Simon's — Necaxa — A 
strange, gorge-like world of heat and light — Mexican time-tables — 
The French trail Page 310 

XXVII 

A luncheon for Gustavo Madero — Celebrating the Grito at the 
Palace — The President's brother explains his philosophy — Hacienda 
of San Cristobal — A typical Mexican Sunday dinner . . Page 316 

XXVIII 

Good-by to Mexico, and a special farewell to Madame Madero — Vera 
Cruz — Mexico in perspective .......... Page 333 



ILLUSTRATIONS 



Hillside Houses and Church Towers in the Zapatista 

Country 

The Revolutionary Camp, May 5, 1911 

(In front, Francisco I. Madero, behind him, Jos6 Marcia 
Suarez. Next him, Gustavo Madero. At left front, Abram 
Gonsalez. All are dead) 

Francisco I. Madero 

(From a photograph taken in 191 1) 

Madero and Orozco in 191 i — Madero at the Left. . 
Mexican Women Selling Tortillas 



Frontispiece ' 
Facing p. ID' 



24* 



Nelson O'Shaughnessy 

(Secretary of the American Embassy, 
1911-1912) 



Paul Lefaivre 

(French Minister to Mexico, igii) 

Francisco Leon de la Barra 

(President ad interim of the Mexican 
Republic between Diaz and Madero) 

A Road-side Shrine . . . . 



Von Hintze, German Minister to Mexico .... 

(191 1 to 1914) 

Mexican Women Water-carriers 

A Typical Group of Corn-sellers 

Elim 0"Shaughnessy, Mexico, June, 191 i 1 

Madame Lefaivre, Wife of the French Minister > 

TO Mexico, 191 i J 

Xochimilco 

Boats on the Viga Canal 

At El Desierto, April 29, 1912 1 

(Mrs. O'Shaughnessy and Elim in the foreground) ' 

Luncheon at the Villa des Roses 

(In front row, left to right, Mr. de Vilaine, Mile, de Tre\'ille, 
Ambassador Wilson. Madame Lefaivre. Mr. J. B. Potter, Mr. i 
Rieloff (German Consul-general;, Mrs. Nelson O'Shaughnessy, 
Von Hintze, Mr. Kilvert, Mr. Seger) J 

A Beautiful Old Mexican Church 

Mexican Nuns Going to Mass 



34^ 
42 



46 



56 

74 

88 
108 

134 

154 
200' 

234- 

262' 
304- 



FOREWORD 

The letters which form this volume were written in a 
period of delightful leisure, when I was receiinng my first 
impressions of Mexico. The might and beauty of ttie great 
Spanish civilizaticm, set in a frame of exceeding natural 
Urceliness, kifidled new enthusiasms, and to it all was added 
the spectacle of tJiat most passionately personal of hutruin 
games, Mexican politics. 

Though I was standing on its threshold, I had little 
prescience of the national tragedy which later I was to 
enter into completely, beyond tlie feeling of mysterious pos- 
sibilities of calamity in that rich, beautiful, and coveted 
land. 

I saw as in a glass darkly dim forms whose outlines I 
could not distinguish, and I heard as from a distance the 
confused cries of a people about to undergo a supreme 
national crisis, wJiere the greatest delicacy and reserce were 
necessary on the part of the neighboring nations. 

Since tJien all has happened to Mexico that can happen 
to a land atui permit of its still existing. Even as indi- 
viduals bear, tliey know not Iww, tlie mibearable, so has 
Mexico endured. 

It is not easy for iliose who witnessed her great years 



FOREWORD 

of prosperity and peace to he reconciled to the years of chaos 
which have followed, unable as they are to distinguish any 
good that has resulted to compensate for the misery under- 
gone. 

All theories have been crushed to atoms by the tragic 
avalanche of facts, and above it the voice of the prophet 
has been heard, ''Let that which is to die, die; that which 
is to he lost, lose itself; and of them that remain, let them 
devour one another ' ' — until the time comes for new things, 

Edith Coues O'Shaughnessy. 

Paris, September, 1917. 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 



First impressions of the tropics — Exotic neighbors on shipboard — 
Havana — Picturesque Mayan stevedores — Vera Cruz — The journey- 
up to Mexico City 

Off the FLORroA Keys, 
On board the Monterey, May i, igii. 

PRECIOUS MOTHER: From the moment of ar- 
rival at the docks I began to have a suspicion of 
the tropics, which, however, with everything else, was 
in abeyance as we rounded Cape Hatteras. During that 
period an unhappy lot of passengers spent the hours 
.more or less recumbent. 

We left New York on a day beautiful and sunny over- 
head, but uncertain and white-capped underneath, and 
I don't want to repeat Cape Hatteras in any near future. 
However, sea evils are quickly forgotten, and I am 
"taking notice" again. 

When we got down to the docks strange equatorial- 
looking boxes were being unloaded, and there were un- 
familiar odors proceeding from crates of fruits, with spiky 
green things poking out, and something aromatic and 
suggestive about them. Unfamiliar people more highly 
colored and less clear-cut than I am accustomed to 
were gesticulating and running about and talking in 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

Spanish, with quantities of strange-looking luggage, count- 
less children, and a great deal of very light-yellow shoe. 

It was twelve o'clock as we left. N. had our steamer 
chairs arranged, and we went down to lunch to the sound 
of the loudest gong that ever invited me to refresh. 
The comedor (dining-room) had its menu printed in 
English and Spanish, and, of course, I lapped up the 
Spanish names with my lunch, which gave a charm and 
a relish to the otherwise uninteresting food. Table 
decorations in the shape of paper palms were rather dis- 
illusioning. The merest scrap of any growing exotic 
thing would have satisfied me, though N. said I was 
probably expecting to find the comedor smothered in 
jasmine and mimosa, with orchids clinging to the walls. 
Well, perhaps I was. You know I am romantic. 

I am now ensconced on deck. Low, yellow stretches 
in the distances are the "Keys," and I am beginning to 
feel a slow firing of the imagination as we slip into these 
soft, bright waters — into the Caribbean. Our old Lamar- 
tine quotation comes to mind, "Ainsi toujourspousses vers 
de nouveaux rivages," etc. 

A Merida family occupies the state-room nearest mine 
— five children, mother, father, and a beetling-browed 
Indian maid. I stumble over details of their luggage 
every time I go out of my cab n — a pea-green valise, a 
chair for one of the younger chi dren, a large rocking- 
horse, a great, round, black-and-white .cardboard box 
from some hat-shop in Fourteenth Street — they don't 
seem to mind what they carry. 

Their parrot I had removed early in the game; none 
of them ever went near it to give it food or water, 
though they had gone to the immense bother of travel- 
ing with it. It was evidently pleased to be going back 
to where it had come from, and its liveliest times were 
between 4 and 6 a.m. and 2 and 4 p.m. 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

They have an awful little boy they shriek at, called 
Jenofonte (in toying with my dictionary I see it is 
Zenophon in English) . He " hunts ' ' with a quiet, bright- 
eyed little sister called Jesusita, whom I have several 
times found in my state-room investigating things. It 
seemed at first like having them all in with me. The 
state-rooms have only the thinnest partitions, with 
about a foot of nothing at the top for ventilation. 

The steward tells me they get off at Progreso. "Pa- 
pacito" is a wealthy henequen planter. "Mamacita" 
boarded the ship wearing huge diamond ear-rings and 
molded into the tightest checked tailor-suit you ever 
saw. This morning she is perfectly comfortable in a 
lace-trimmed, faded lavender wrapper — doubtless in- 
spired by the warm air. I can see her in sack and petti- 
coat on the plantation. 

The boat is full of children, and how they squabble! 
The various parents come up and talk in loud, harsh 
voices, and gesticulate and scream what seem maledic- 
tions on one another, and one thinks there is going to 
be a terrible row, when suddenly everybody walks off 
with everybody else as pleasant as you please, and it is 
all over till the next time. 

More or less sophisticated literature was sent me for 
the voyage by various well-wishers. To-day I have 
been reading Les Dieux ont SoiJ, but with a feeling that 
this is not a setting for Anatole France, and that I 
would do better to wait in spite of all the cleverness. 
He can't compete with this sea-preface to the Mexican 
book I am to read. 

I have an exotic neighbor in the chair next mine who 
attracted me the first day out by her steamer rugs, 
which seemed to be white lace bedspreads with wadded 
linings, now not as fresh as they were before we all 
disappeared during the rounding of Cape Hatteras. I 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

have only been wont to travel in directions where 
steamer rugs are steamer rugs. I was further interested 
by the pillows embroidered with large pink-and-blue 
swallows and the word in Italian, Tornero, reminding me 
of the things one used to buy at Sorrento or Naples or 
in the Via Sistina. 

A large, fierce-mustached, chinless man sits by her — 
husband, manager, protector, or devourer, I know not. 
She is an Argentine dancer going to do a "turn" in 
Havana, a good soul with a naturally honest look out 
of her sloe-black eyes and the most lovely lines from 
waist to feet; for the rest getting top-heavy. I imagine 
she is "letting herself go," as large boxes of chocolates 
and candied fruits are always by her side, which she 
presses on Elim every time he appears. He is sitting 
by me and says to tell you that he has you zucker-lieb. 

He runs the deck from morning till night, and I 
think his httle alabaster legs are taking on a brownish 
tinge. It is getting very warm, but there is always 
one side of the boat where a breeze is to be had He 
has been divested of most of his clothing, and is wearing 
a little pale-blue linen suit, short above his sweet, white 
knees. He looks like the fairest lily among all these 
dark blossoms. 

Later. 

Between six and seven o'clock the sea was a marvel- 
ous mauve and blue; myriads of little white-winged 
flying-fish were springing out of the water; over us was 
a green-and-orange sky in which a pale crescent moon 
was shining. Tell Elliott these wondrous seas seem 
to belong to him. My thoughts enfolded him tenderly 
as a soft darkness fell. 

Early to-morrow morning, about 6.30, we get into 
Havana. The Jacksons cabled us before we left New 
York to lunch with them at the Legation 

4 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

The Monterey has been taking strange, unrelated as- 
sortments of passengers to Mexico for decades, and her 
only resemblance to the big ocean liners is that she floats. 
The cabins have hard, narrow berths with a still harder 
shelf of a sofa, and when I add that a bit of cloth was 
tied round the stopper of my basin to prevent the water 
from running out, you will quite understand. I used 
half of my bottle of listerine on the stopper, and then 
removed the cloth, with the result that I have to be 
quick about my ablutions. But when one is running 
into a blue-and-mauve sea with a rainbow-colored sky 
above, it does not matter; one is bathed in a gorgeous 
iridescence. The captain tells me that on the last trip 
they ran into a hurricane, with the water suddenly slop- 
ping and washing about in the famous comedor, every- 
body wet and trying to stand on chairs and tables, 
screaming and saying prayers. 

May 3d. 
Between Havana and Progreso. 

Yesterday we had a pleasant day with the Jacksons. 
You know they are always handsomely established, and 
we found them in a very beautiful old Spanish house 
opposite an old church with a pink belfry, and a tall 
palm pressed against it — the sort of silhouette I had 
dreamed of and hoped for. My eyes received it grate- 
fully as we drove up to the door. 

Once in the house, dim, cool, large spaces enveloped 
us, and Mrs. Jackson, very dainty in the freshest and 
filmiest of white dresses, received us. We had not met 
since the old Berlin days. Mr. Jackson, also in im- 
maculate white, was coming down the broad stone 
stairway from the chancery as we got there. 

They showed us the interesting house, a type fast dis- 
appearing, alas! Mostly they are being turned into 
cigarette-factories or being torn down to make room 

5 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

for entirely unsuitable buildings, such as are in vogue 
in the temperate zone. Large suites of rooms are built 
between a wide outer veranda and a large inner corridor 
giving on a courtyard. During the season of rains, 
it appears, the water rushes down the broad stairway, 
and the furniture in the huge, window-paneless rooms 
is piled up in the middle. Nobody keeps books or en- 
gravings in Havana, on account of the dampness. There 
is not a first edition on the island. Even shoes and 
slippers left in the closets get a green mold in no time. 
Mr. Jackson says they have a lot of work at the Lega- 
tion, and everything in Havana costs the eyes of the 
head. 

An hour or so after lunch, with its *'Auld Lang Syne" 
flavor spiced with our hot, tropical inquiries, we took a 
drive along the deserted Malecon, the entire popula- 
tion evidently at the business of the siesta. But 
Havana should always be seen, indescribably beautiful, 
from a ship entering the port in the pearly mom, as I 
saw it. 

About four o'clock, when we were driving to the land- 
ing, the town began to wake up. There was much com- 
ing and going of a many-colored population, with the 
dark note dominating, and much whistUng and hum- 
ming, and many knowing-looking, pretty, flashing-eyed, 
very young girls were walking about. We had been re- 
freshed with one of the national beverages — shredded 
pineapple in powdered ice — most delicious, before leav- 
ing the Legation. It helped us over the blaze of water 
to the Monterey. 

After getting back I walked about the deck, watching 
the beautiful little harbor filled with all sorts and con- 
ditions of ships, hailing from the four winds of the earth. 
The Kronprinzessin Cecilie, with the new German 
minister to Mexico aboard, was just going out of the 

6 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

harbor, and I was shown where they were busy dredging 
for the Maine. A part of her historic form was to be 
seen and "gave to think." 

About six o'clock fiery clouds began to pile themselves 
up in the heavens with a lavishness I am unaccustomed 
to. One could not tell where the sun was actually set- 
ting. The whole horizon was red and pink and saffron 
and vermilion, and the rose-tinted Cabafia fortress and 
Morro Castle cut sharply into it. The waters of the 
harbor slowly became a magnificent purple, and as the 
ships began to hang their masthead lights, and the 
throb of coming night was over everything, we steamed 
out. For long after we could see the jeweled lights of 
the lovely isle. So far, so good. 

We have a day at Progreso, and we are planning to 
go ashore to visit Merida, the famous old capital of 
Yucatan, and evidently most interesting. The accounts 
in Terry's Guide are quite alluring. It was founded on 
the remains of the ancient Mayan city, and has a cele- 
brated cathedral built by one of the men who came over 
with Cortes, and still filled with good old things. The 
description of Montejo's house, with its door flanked on 
each side by the stone figure of a Spanish knight with 
his feet on the head of a Mayan Indian, shows what 
that conqueror thought of the situation. 

Captain Smith, very rotund and quite blase about the 
thrills of passengers, who has not been ashore at Merida 
for three decades, though he passes by many times a year, 
recommended us to stay on the boat, saying Merida 
was always "hotter than Tophet," too hot to see any- 
thing. "I know," he added. "I have seen 'them' go 
and seen 'them' return." 

Some spectacled German travelers quite enlivened the 
deck to-day. When they first hove in sight I thought 
they were professors or scientific men of some sort, each 

7 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

having a large, flat valise under his arm. The valises, 
according to the modest yet piercing glance I cast, 
proved, however, to be filled with underpinnings for 
the female form divine, that they are going to introduce 
into Yucatan — coarse embroidery and lace-trimmed arti- 
cles, with machine-stitching you could see the length of 
the deck, and both men simply dripped with samples. 
Dots, stripes, and checks, with the prices attached, 
seemed to be their whole existence. 

Awhile ago, however, the largest and most florid one 
leaned against the railing under the warm starry sky, 
as we steamed through a phosphorescent sea, and sang 
Walther's "Preislied" in a beautiful tenor voice, with 
the purest, smoothest phrasing. The other, regretting 
at intervals that he had not brought his geige with him, 
hummed a delightful second part to Wie ist es moglich 
dann dass ich dich las sen kann. It was all as natural 
as breathing, and as close. 

May 4th. 
Between Progreso and Vera Cruz. 

The voyage is drawing to an end. A peace which 
doesn't pass imderstanding has fallen on my part of 
the ship as the Merida family and their rainbow luggage 
were taken off to the sound of the shrieks of the parrot, 
the screams of the family, and endless running back to 
get things. 

We did not go ashore, after all, as we had planned. 
From the direction of Merida came a strange heat en- 
veloping like a garment, a heat unknown to me, and 
a dazzling glaze of light, which seemed to bore holes 
through the eyes. Later on at sunset, red as blood, 
there was a spongy crimson ambiency about each figure 
on deck. 

All day we watched the spotlessly clean Mayan 
stevedores unloading the cargo on to the lighters. It 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

was an effect of brown skin and white or pale-pink or 
green garments, which I suppose had been some coarser 
color to begin with. They are Mayan Indians with a 
big civilization behind them. I remembered dimly 
those beautiful illustrated reports — I think from the 
Smithsonian — that I used to look at in the Washington 
house curled up in an arm-chair. It affected me to see 
these remnants of a past race arrive for the unloading 
of our steamer so clean, so fresh-smelling. All day long 
they have been crying "Abajo!" and "Arriba!" as the 
heavy load swung down or the iron claws swung up. The 
little boats and lighters of all kinds have pious names — 
La Concepcion Inmaculada, Asuncion (the grimiest and 
smallest of all was La Transfiguracidn) — instead of the 
Katies and Susies and Dolphins of another clime. 

Later. 

We were thankful we had not ventured into the Merida 
furnace. Some stout Germans who left in the morning 
active, rosy, fat, and inquiring, came back languid, 
lead-colored, flabby, and silent. What happened to the 
two who debarked to introduce coarse undergarments 
and fine singing into Yucatan I shall never know. 

I thought of Elliott, when the darkish women in pink 
dresses, with a blue veil or two and jewelry and many 
children, got on the boat to go from Progreso to Vera 
Cruz. It must have been the sort he used to see in 
Haiti. I have just written Aunt Laura, to post at Vera 
Cruz, that she may know we are en route to the land of 
the cactus. Events have succeeded one another so 
quickly these past few months that I am dazed. Only 
the thread of love and sorrow and high adventure that 
holds life together keeps me steady. 

Yesterday Elim said, in the same tone he would have 
used feeding the swans and the deer in any one of the 

9 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

accustomed international parks, "Now I am going to 
feed the sharks." He was hoping they would show some 
interest in the bits of bread he threw at them. These 
wondrous blue waters are simply infested with the raven- 
ing creatures, and any one who fell overboard would not 
need to fear drowning. Since we left Havana it has 
been all color, no contours, no masses, even, except 
the gorgeous sunset clouds, and they have presented 
themselves with unimaginable pomp and circumstance. 
I have never seen such a waste of color. 

The German son-in-law of Senator Newlands, whom 
you saw in Berlin, is on board, also a count and countess 
— I think the same ones that mixed the tomato catsup 
in the bath-tub of the Washington house that the clergy 
provided for them when they came from Rome seeking 
fortune. An unidentified youth, terzo incommodo or com- 
modo, for all I know, is with them; the returning families 
and German commercial travelers make up the rest. 

To-day, though the sea is smooth to the eye, there is 
a long, slow ground-swell, and this blanket of heat 
further relieves one of all strenuosity. I begin to under- 
stand lots of things. Campeche Bay is a far cry from 
the Ritz-Carlton — but what would life be without its 
far cries? 

Friday 5th. 
Nearing Vera Cruz. 

Very hot, though early this morning there was a 
drenching rain, a deluge. The heavens simply opened, 
and everything, for an hour, was running with a great 
sound of water. Now the sun is out, a strange, prick- 
ing, nerve-disturbing sun. 

I have a deep thrill of excitement when I think of the 
Mexico in revolution that we are nearing, steaming so 
quickly to the center of it all. The victories, the defeats, 
the glories, the abasements, vanishings, and destructions 

J9 






■ ',fli-'^%^ '"'^ '^ fc'f •' !■> v'. ■4^ftiii 




THE REVOLUTIONARY CAMP, MAY 5, I9II 

(In front, Francisco I. Madero; behind him, Jose Marcia Suarez; next him, Gustavo 
Madero. In khaki at left front, Abram Gonsalez. All are dead) 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

we may witness, all that troubled magnetic unknown 
awaiting us! In looking over the newspaper in Mrs. 
Jackson's cool, dim, vast boudoir we saw that the 
Madero revolution is taking on great proportions. Old 
things and new wrestling for supremacy, "and the 
heavens above them all." 

The are going on to Mexico City to ''chercher 

fortune." He is the brother of the tomato-catsup bath- 
tub episode, as I gathered, when he spoke of a brother 
having been in Washington. He quite frankly tells 
people that he himself has had bad luck, as on the way 
to Mexico he had stopped at Monte Carlo, and of the 
hundred thousand francs raised to begin life again in 
the tropics he had lost eighty thousand at the tables. 
Very sad! 

We land at Vera Cruz about noon, according to Cap- 
tain Smith, and can take a night train (thirteen hours) 
up to Mexico City. I had some thought of persuading 
N. to wait over, that we might make the famous journey 
by daylight. But the train leaves at 6 a.m., which would 
mean a night in Vera Cruz, and what I hear about the 
hotels is not confidence-inspiring. I have a feeling of 
being completely at the mercy of the unknown and 
the only partially controllable — unknown microbes, un- 
known humanities, unknown everything; and there is 
the blue-eyed boy, so we will probably let the scenery 
enjoy itself. 

Later, j p.m. 
Sitting on deck in Vera Cruz harbor. 

To-day is a great national holiday, the 5th of May 
(when the French were defeated at Puebla), and things 
are not moving quickly, at any rate not in our direction. 
The health officials have not materialized. Somebody 
said it was a bad time to arrive, anyway, as they would 
be taking their afternoon naps. 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

The only other visitor from foreign parts in the 
harbor is the Kronprinzessin Cecilie lying against the 
white glaze of shore. An old Spanish fortress, San 
Juan Ulua, is near us — now used as a prison and most 
dreadful, I am told. But I keep thinking how, through 
the centuries, the vast, shining wealth of Mexico poured 
into Europe from this port. 

Later. 

The polite, vestless but not coatless health officials 
have found us "clean," and we are now waiting for the 
next set — I think it is the port authorities — to finish 
their naps. 

On the docks so near, but apparently so far, is lying 
or sitting a dark-faced, peaked-hatted, white-trousered 
race with one tall, white-skinned, white-clad figure 
standing out — our consul, evidently come to meet us. 
Captain Smith told me that in the old days navigators 
got into Vera Cruz by the picturesque means of steering 
so that the tower of the Church of San Francisco covered 
the tower of the cathedral. 

I was standing by him (it was his ninety-ninth en- 
trance into Vera Cruz harbor) just as we passed the lone 
palms on the flat, sandy island, and he heaved a sigh 
of relief. In addition to the sandy islands and the 
lonely palms were blackened ribs of various ships that 
did not get into port. These things and the blur of 
heat confusing the outlines of the city into a mass of 
white, pink, and green, with a hint of a lustrous moun- 
tain form on a far horizon, are what I see as we sit here 
ready to step ashore into the unknown. 

Mexico City, May 6th, noon. 
H6tel de Geneve, a stone's-throw from the Embassy. 

We got in early, at 7.30, and I did not feel, driving 
through the broad streets with their wash of Indian 

12 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

color, as one often does entering strange cities in the 
eariy morning: "Why, oh, why have I come? What am 
I doing here?" 

There seemed abundant justification, if one could only 
get at it ; some personal pointing of the finger of a gen- 
erally impersonal fate. It's all very strange to both the 
psychical and physical being. N. went early to present 
himself to the ambassador. We had purposely not 
telegraphed our arrival. Elim is out with Gabrielle, 
and I am rather limp and listless after the sleepless night, 
which was an unforgetable rising up, up, up, with a 
ringing in the ears, through an exotic, potential sort of 
darkness. 

My last word was from the boat, posted at the con- 
sulate. Mr. Canada, our calm, sensible, silver-haired, 
blue-eyed consul, welcomed us at Vera Cruz, piloted us 
quickly through the furnace of the customs, across an 
equally hot interval of sand and cobblestone to the dim, 
cool consulate, where a strong, unexpected breeze was 
blowing in at the sea-windows. 

Then ensued a great telegraphing to and fro to know 
if the line, the only one rumored to be intact to Mexico 
City, were really open and safe. Other encouraging 
rumors, such as the cutting of the water and light sup- 
plies of Mexico City by the revolutionaries, were rife. 
But, not fancying a marooning in Vera Cruz, we de- 
cided *Tf it were done, 'twere well 'twere done quickly." 

Half an hour before the train started, with babe, 
baggage, and maid safely on board, we took a little 
turn about the streets. A blessed blue darkness was 
falling, all that glaze of heat was gone, and the note of 
color proved to be little low, pink houses with a great 
deal of green shutter and balcony. We went as far as 
the Plaza, drawn by the sound of some really snappy 
music. Indians, mantilla-covered, white-clad women, 

13 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

little children in various stages of undress, and a for- 
eigner or two smoking, were sitting or walking about in 
the palm-planted square, and under some arcades peo- 
ple were eating and drinking. The domed and belfried 
cathedral was only a dark mass against the sky, but all 
the same I deeply knew that it was the tropics, the 
Spanish tropics. Thus has many a one debarked in a 
tropical port, and there is nothing at all extraordinary 
about it, except one's own feeling. 

As the train moved out of the station every man had 
his revolver or his rifle ready at hand, and there was a 
great wiping and clicking and loading going on. The 
colored porter and a young man reading the Literary 
Digest gave, however, home notes of security. 

It wasn't one of those nights when you "lie down to 
pleasant dreams." As I put my head out of the window 
at one of the dark stops the scent of some sickeningly 
sweet unknown flower fell like a veil over my face. 
There was a hollow sound of the testing of the wheels. 
Torches and lanterns cut the darkness, so that I got 
suggestions of unfamiliar silhouettes, as a peaked hat 
or a flap of a cape or a bayonet caught the light. Sol- 
diers were guarding the bridges and trestle-works, which 
seemed endless. 

As the first dim light began to come in at my window 
I drew up the curtain and looked out on a scene so beau- 
tiful, so unexpected, that I could have wept. The two 
great volcanoes, Popocatepetl and Ixtaccihuatl, were 
high, rose-colored, serene, ineffably beautiful against 
the sky, still a pale tint of bleu de nuit. I felt all the 
alarms and uncertainties of the darkness slip away. 
Elim was rolled up like a Httle ball at the foot of the 
berth, nothing of his head showing but a shock of yellow 
hair. We were safely on the heights. 

Dim, bluish fields of the unfamiliar maguey were 

14 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

planted in regular rows. Even as I looked out they 
began to take on a rich, brownish-pink tone, the little 
Indian huts along the way became rose-colored, every- 
thing began to glow. The two peaks, which had had no 
place in my consciousness since I wrestled with their 
names at school, were masses of' flame-color against a 
sky of palest, whitest blue. At the little stations an 
occasional red-blanketed, peaked-hatted Indian ap- 
peared. It was the Mexico of dreams. 



II 



First visit to the Embassy — Adjusting oneself to a height of eight 
thousand feet in the tropics — Calle Humboldt — Mexican servants 
— Diplomatic dinners— Progress of Maderista forces. 

May 7, igii. 

YESTERDAY proved very full, though I had thought 
to engage it, as far as the outer world was con- 
cerned, by a single visit to the Embassy. N . came home 
to lunch with the announcement that it was Mrs. Wil- 
son's day, so I went back with him, thinking to greet her 
for a moment only, but she insisted on my returning 
for the afternoon reception, and was most cordial and 
welcoming. 

I came home, tried to rest, and didn't, and, finally 
pulling my outer self together with the help of the big, 
black Alphonsine hat, sallied forth at five o'clock to see 
the general lay of the Mexican land. I found various 
autos drawn up before the Embassy door, and Mrs. 
Wilson, very gracious and attractive-looking in a helio- 
trope dress, was receiving many callers in her handsome, 
flower-filled drawing-room. Various diplomatic people 
were presented, but mostly, as it happened, from or 
about the equator. 

I met, however, a charming young Mexican — Del 
Campo, I think his name is — from the Foreign Office. 
His English was so choice and delightful that I asked 
how it came about. He explained that he had an Irish 
mother and had been en paste in London. Toward the 

i6 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

end the ambassador came in, very cordial, and asking 
why in the world we hadn't telegraphed that we were 
coming up on the night train, so that we might be 
properly met; but I told him one couldn't be "properly 
met" at 7 a.m. 

An agreeable, clever man, Stephen Bonsai, who has 
been correspondent at various crises for various news- 
papers in various parts of the world, came in late. He 
is down here to watch the progress of the revolution 
from the very good perspective afforded by Mexico 
City. After every one but Mr. Bonsai had gone there 
was an interesting conversation about the potentialities 
of the Mexican situation. 

The ambassador is a great admirer of Diaz, and fears 
the unknown awaiting us. 

In the evening we dined with the first secretary, Mr. 
Dearing, a delightful man of good judgment, with 
dark, clever eyes, who says he has in view just the house 
for us. I am glad to find him here. 

It's all rather a blur of fatigue, however, and this 
morning not much better. I am conscious all the time 
of an effort to adjust the body to an unaccustomed air- 
pressure, a different ambiency. After all, it is nearly 
eight thousand feet in the tropics. This hotel "leaves 
to be desired" from every point of view, and we must 
make other arrangements at the earliest opportunity. 

Later. 

Various reporters have been here wanting details of 
our "previous condition of servitude," and bothering 
us for our photographs, which we have not got. 

Mr. Weitzel, special secretary, sent from Washington 
to "help out" pending N.'s arrival, has been to lunch, 
and I am going out to drive with Mrs. Wilson in a few 
minutes. 

17 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

Was it not tragic — one of those tricky, inexplicable, 
unnatural arrangements of fate — that Aunt Laura, up 
from Tehuantepec on business, should have been leav- 
ing one station as we got in at the other? It would have 
seemed to the human understanding the preordained 
moment to span the decades between this day and that 
long-ago parting in my childhood. 

Later. 

Just home from a delightful drive about Chapultepec 
Park with Mrs. Wilson. It is entered through a broad, 
eucalyptus-planted avenue with fine monuments and 
vistas, leading into the beautiful, poetic grounds, with 
the far-famed castle of Chapultepec standing on a hill 
in the midst, about which grow countless varieties of 
exotic tree and flower. As we drove about she told me 
ot the wonderful fiesta there at the time of the Centenary, 
when the park was hung with thousands of electric 
lights, of the dignity and state of Don Porfirio, and of 
Dona Carmen's wonderful white Paris gown and her 
strings of pearls and diamonds, and flashing through it 
all her gracious smile as she received the great of the 
earth, gathered from the four winds. 

But there seemed something of a fairy tale about it 
all, with a revolutionary army in the north headed 
straight for us, brought together by an unknown dreamer 
of the dream of equality, a sort of prophet and apostle. 

May 8th. 
I have already sent off two letters, but this goes via 
the pouch to Washington. I am not formulating any- 
thing about Mexico. I feel myself simply a receptacle 
for impressions not yet crystallized. 

I am now going to look at the house Dearing spoke of. 
This hotel, though quite new, is already rickety and 

i8 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

proves itself more primitive at each turn. The doors 
in every room are placed just where you don't expect 
them; either you can't shut them or they won't open. 
The hot water runs cold, and the cold hot. We are up 
a huge number of stairs, the first step placed at right 
angles as you go out of the door; and I seem to be 
living in a world of luggage. The pleasant rooms can 
only be got at through the undesirable ones. The food 
to me is interesting with its American veneer over un- 
classified substances, but would never do for Elim. 

This afternoon I made official calls with Mrs. Wilson — 
just a leaving of cards, and in the evening we dine with 
Dearing and Weitzel, who, now that N. has arrived, is 
returning immediately to Washington. The weather is 
beautiful, but the dark and splendid clouds that yester- 
day "gathered round the setting sun" are, they tell me, 
the forerunners of the rainy season. 

May Q, iQii. 

Instead of dining with Mr. Weitzel we all had a very 
pleasant dinner at the Embassy last night. Everything 
exceedingly well done. A Belgian mattre d'hotel has 
brought his Brussels ways with him, and it might have 
been a pleasant dinner anywhere. The Embassy is 
very handsomely equipped throughout with the fur- 
nishings of Mr. Wilson's Brussels Legation, and the 
rooms are all large and high-ceilinged and generally 
ambassadorial-looking. Mr. Wilson has a very com- 
plex situation well in hand, but says he has ample rea- 
son to fear that if Diaz goes it will be an embarking on 
unknown seas in a rudderless ship. Personally I have 
not got any of the points of the compass yet, but some- 
thing seems brewing in all directions. 

Later. 

We took the charming dwelling I spoke of yesterday — 
not too large, and thoroughly furnished by comfortably 
•3 19 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

living, cultured people — 42 Calle Humboldt. The name 
of the street itself is in the proper Mexican note. I 
want to keep the house, which is built in the dignified, 
solid way of half a century ago, on the basis of the former 
masters, so I looked over the accounts, which in them- 
selves give a picture of Mexican life. 

The servants get fifteen cents a day for their food, 
consisting largely of frijoles, and their everlasting 
pulque, which my nose is no longer a stranger to, and 
their wages range from seven to nine dollars a month. 
There is a dear little flower-planted corridor — pink 
geraniums and calla-lilies — running around the four sides 
of the patio, on which all the rooms open, and there 
is a second brick veranda, with various shrubs and 
flowers and oleander- trees, out beyond the dining-room, 
where Elim can play in the flooding sun. Four of the 
servants have been many years with the Americans to 
whom the house belongs, Mrs. Seeger and her daughter 
departing only last week on the Ward Line Merida. 

The house has never been rented before. Its only 
drawback is that it is in the center of the town, though 
it is at the end of the street near the broad Paseo. 
The Embassy is some distance out, in one of the new 
"Colonias." We can move in immediately. Every- 
thing is in apple-pie order. I have seen two smiling, 
black-dressed, white-collared, white-aproned maids, who 
said they wouldn't stay if I got a butler. It sounds so 
promising that I certainly won't introduce any possi- 
bly disturbing element into this paradise. 

42 Calle Humboldt. 

I am sitting here quietly in the charming little library 

waiting for the maltre de maison, whom we have just 

missed ; a few final arrangements are to be made. There 

are many bookcases filled with really good books, easy- 

20 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

chairs, writing-desks, and all sheltered from this beauti- 
ful but cruel light by awnings at the windows of court 
and street — everything comfortable and comme il faut. 
The rooms have the high ceilings of this part of the 
world, and in the drawing-room, which gives into the 
library, are more books, and furniture that will be pleas- 
ant to live with. 

Mrs. S., fearing possible destructions of a very prob- 
able revolution, took with her all her really good port- 
able things, I understand. Collections of fans, paint- 
ings on bronze, some old pictures, valuable bric-a-brac 
— in short, the gleanings of years. I am thankful, 
of course, not to have the responsibility of anybody's 
special treasures. 

The rooms are all enfilade, with the open corridor 
running around the inside of the patio, and all, except 
two big corner rooms giving on the street, open onto it. 
Just opposite is the Ministry of Finance, and at the head 
of the street in the big Plaza is the Foreign Office. 
There is an artesian well at the back, but the water 
nust be boiled and filtered. I understand one must 
keep one's eye on the filtering and boiling, which seems 
superfluous to the Aztec. Nothing is spoken except 
Spanish, which pleases me, as it will break me in im- 
mediately. The servants are a cook, the two nice 
maids, two washer- women, and a little half -priced maid 
called a galopina. As you will judge by the name, she 
does all the running, and doubtless the kitchen work 
nobody else will do. 

I am most fortunate not to have to try my novice 
hand on getting a household together in this land of 
unknown equations. Just to step into a well-ordered 
household is a piece of good luck. I have already seen 
a comer I shall make mine, a sofa near a bookcase and 
reading-lamp, and an old, low, square table which I 

21 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

shall put beside it for books and flowers, and where 
the tea will be brought. 

May loth. 
A word in haste by the pouch. Don't believe all you 
see in the newspapers, and especially don't let the Paris 
Herald make you panicky. We are well, and to-morrow 
we move into the pleasant home. In case there are riots 
we can sport not only one oak, but two, as there is a 
double set of doors to the large vestibule leading into 
the courtyard, and we are up one flight, in what the 
ItaUans would call the piano nohile. Nothing above 
but a flat, convenient, accessible roof. I am told the 
roof is a great feature of Latin -American life, especially 
in revolutionary days. 

I write at length about the disposition of the house 
because I know you will like to hear; not because there 
is one chance in a thousand of the siege so much talked 
about, though it seems in the note to order large sup- 
plies from the American grocery-stores, and people are 
having their doors and window-shutters strengthened. 
The fighting on the frontier has nothing, as yet, to do 
with us. 

May i2th. 

All peaceful here in Mexico City. Diaz and Madero 
are supposed to come to some sort of terms. The well- 
seasoned inhabitants who know the people and condi- 
tions feel there is no cause for personal anxieties, though, 
of course, there are always alarmists. One minister, 
whose posts during a long career have been Guatemala, 
Siam, and Mexico, talks wildly, and has stocked his 
house for a siege. He lets the water run into his tub 
at night for fear the water-supply will be cut off, and has 
had iron bars put across his shutters. 

Yesterday, when we got to the house, there was not 
a sign of any of the servants. It appeared completely 

22 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

deserted, and might have been a Mayan ruin so far as 
signs of life were concerned. After an hour of thinking 
their delicacy, or whatever it was, had gone far enough, 
I investigated the back quarters, and they all appeared 
smiling and ready. As I understand it, there was some 
Spanish-Indian idea about not intruding at first; but / 
wanted to get settled ! 

I was out this morning, getting a few necessary addi- 
tions to the house, though everything is here, even to 
some linen and silver. The departing Belgian secretary 
is having a sale, and I met there several of the colleagues 
looking over his household gods. 

Last night we were again at the Embassy for dinner, 
and the cook returned me some of the morning house 
money — fifty cents or so — that had not been used. I 
was so surprised that I took it. They seem a pleasant, 
peaceful, gentle, ungrasping sort of people. 

The house is open day and night — we live a practi- 
cally outdoor life. To get to the really charming dining- 
room with its yellowwalls, rare old engravings in old dark, 
inlaid frames, its cabinets with bits of Napoleon, Maxi- 
milian, and other old china, we have to go out under 
"the inverted bowl" of an unimagined shining blueness 
and around the corridor. It certainly poetizes the hour 
of refreshment. The climate is indescribably beautiful 
to look at, but it is all too high. Few foreigners can 
stand it a la longue. The patio was flooded with moon- 
light when I went to bed, and flooded with sun when I 
woke up. I praised Allah. 

The dinner of twelve at the Embassy last night was 
very pleasant. President Taft's announcement that 
there would be no intervention made every one feel easy 
again. Rumors had been rife in town as to possible 
decisions in Washington. I sat between the ambassador 
and an American, Mr. McLaren, an intime of Madero, 

23 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

in whose house he lay concealed last autumn when he 
was in danger of arrest. 

I was most interested in hearing, at first hand, about 
Madero. Mr. McLaren, a clever lawyer with a long 
experience of Mexico, says he is inspired, illuminated, 
selfless, with but one idea, the regeneration of Mexico. 
He seems to have no doubt of Madero's being able to 
work out the Mexican situation along high, broad lines, 
and thinks he will surely be here, in the city, through 
force or the abdication of Diaz, within a month or two. 

Mr. Wilson, on the contrary, told me again he saw 
with dread the overthrow of the Diaz regime. Though 
the President is eighty-three, with many of the infirmi- 
ties and obstinacies of old age, he also preserves many 
of the qualities that made him great, and Mr. Wilson 
said that he personally, in all his dealings with him, 
never found him lacking in understanding or energy. 

I reminded myself of La Fontaine's fable, Entre deux 
Ages, with the difference, however, that instead of 
having no hair left, I had no opinions left, when we rose 
from dinner. We drove home in an open motor under 
a thickly starred and gorgeous heaven; but the un- 
familiar constellations gave me sudden nostalgia. 

Later. 

Last night the Ward Line Merida sank. The wife 
and daughter of Mr. Seeger were on her. After five 
hours of anguish and uncertainty, in complete darkness, 
bereft of every personal belonging, the passengers were 
transferred to the United Fruit Company steamer that 
ran into them. The news has just come in. It makes 
42 Calle Humboldt seem very safe. To think that as 
we were returning to its security from the pleasant dinner 
at the Embassy the disaster was taking place ! 

I look about this comfortable home and think how 

34 




FRANCISCO I. MADERO 

(From a photograph taken in 191 1) 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

sheltered a spot had been forsaken but a short week ago, 
of the treasures chosen from walls and cabinets to be 
out of possible revolutionary harm, and now all is lying 
at the bottom of the sea, off Cape Hatteras, and we, 
strangers, are safe in the shelter of this home. "Who 
shall escape his fate?" I keep saying to myself. 

May 13th. 

On the loth Juarez was captured with its command- 
ing officer. General Navarro, by Orozco and Giuseppe 
Garibaldi, who is down here following out the family 
traditions. I am writing in the comfortable little li- 
brary, doors opening everywhere on to the flower- 
planted corridor. I have been reading Creelman's Life 
of Diaz, and three volumes of Prescott are waiting on 
my little table. Suddenly I find I am hungry with a 
great hunger for the printed page and the old objective 
and impersonal habits of thought. In Vienna the per- 
sonal, with its "grand seigneur" contour, seemed to re- 
place quite sufficiently for the time any objective views 
of life. A woman who reads there is likely to be nial vue, 
which for some reason does not at all do away with the 
insistent seductions of Viennese life. 

Yours from the Bolder received, and the sight of the 
envelope showing the familiar Zurich lake and hills 
made me realize the mountains and seas that separate 
us. Elim went to sleep with the envelope under his 
pillow. The beautiful park nearest us, the "Alameda," 
of which I inclose a post-card, is unfortunately haunted 
by Indians, picturesque, hungry, dirty. If it is true, as 
transcendental souls say, that beauty is food, I need not 
worry about them, but it does not make the place very 
tempting for Elim's airings. He will have to be driven 
up to Chapultepec Park. 

We are to be presented to the President and his wife 

?5 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

this week, and are looking forward to meeting the 
maker of modern Mexico and his charming consort. 
They are in their large house near the Palacio, but gen- 
erally at this season have moved to Chapultepec. 

May i6tli. 

Yesterday Madero and Carbajal, who is the peace 
envoy of Diaz, whatever that may mean, went into 
conference at Juarez to consider the proposals of the 
Diaz government. Everything here is in a melting con- 
dition, and how it will crystallize the fates alone know. 

Various "innocent" bystanders were killed or injured 
at Douglas in the early days of the revolution. Some 
still more innocent, looking neither to the right nor to 
the left, also got hurt, as, for instance, the lady leaning 
over the wash-tub with her back to the land of the 
cactus. They have put in a nice little bundle of claims, 
and one flippant newspaper at home suggests putting the 
town of Douglas on wheels and moving it to a place of 
safety, rather than going to the expense of invading 
Mexico for the recovery of claims past and future. 

Last night we dined at the handsome French Legation 
in the Calle Roma. The minister and his wife are 
away, and in their absence the charge d'affaires, De Vaux, 
is living there with two friends, a Mr. de Vilaine, very 
au courant with Mexican matters, and who has large 
mining interests in Taxco and Colima. He showed us 
some interesting silver ingots from a little mill at Mi- 
ramar on the Pacific coast, made up after the manner of 
the early Spaniards. 

A young man, D'Aubigny,^in business here, completes 
a pleasant trio, and we had a very agreeable dinner. 
The retiring Spanish secretary, Romero, just appointed 
to Teheran, and his Viennese wife were also there. 

^ Killed during the battle of the Somme, 1916. 
26 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

Romero bears testimony to race, and his long and ele- 
gant silhouette fitted into the charming rooms most 
harmoniously; but a tall, distinguished-looking man, 
whose name I did not get, ought to have been hanging, 
clad in a ruff and velvet doublet, in a gilt frame among 
the Velasquez in the Madrid museum. 

The Belgian minister, Allart, who has been here dur- 
ing the last several years of Don Porfirio's glory, took 
me out. The conversation everywhere turns on the 
political situation, suppositions as to the abdication of 
Diaz, prophecies as to how and when Madero will ar- 
rive, if the city will offer resistance, and each one's little 
plan of campaign in case of siege. 

There is a temporary narrow-gauge railroad running 
from the arsenal to the Buena Vista station, across the 
beautiful Paseo, for the expedition of men and muni- 
tions if necessary, which Allart told me appeared last 
March in the night soon after Limantour's return. No- 
body seems to know exactly what forces are at the dis- 
position of the Federal government. The newspapers 
get rich on the situation, however, and certainly it en- 
livens the dinners. 

May 20, igii. 

The Madero forces are in possession of the ports of 
entry at Juarez and Agua Prieta, and can collect the 
customs which, as one minister said, would be spent in 
fancy by all, but in reality by the usual nearest few. 

I saw some Mexican suffragettes the other day whom 
I wish their American sisters could have gazed upon. 
They were armed with bandoliers full of ammunition 
crossed over their breasts, and it did look like bullets 
rather than ballots among the sisterhood here. 

N. has photographed the patio and corridor, and I 
will send you some copies as soon as possible. 

Yesterday I called with Mrs. Wilson at the house of 

27 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

Mrs. Nuttall, of philological and archaeological fame, 
who is away. It is the celebrated but ill-omened house ^ 
that Pedro de Alvarado, Cortes's beloved, hot-blooded, 
dashing lieutenant, built just after the Conquest, when 
Coyoacan was the favorite spot of the high-bom and 
high-handed survivors. It has a most artistic fagade, 
pink, with the pink of ages, and decorated with a lovely 
lozenge-shaped design. 

One enters through a great carved wooden door, with 
an old shrine above it, into a beautiful courtyard with 
patches of sun and dark corners, and going up a broad 
flight of outside stairs one finds oneself on a wide Bou- 
gainvillea-hung veranda. 

Mrs. Laughton, Mrs. Nuttall's daughter, gave us tea 
in a high-ceilinged, thick-walled room, filled with 
flowers and bric-a-brac, with a beautiful, very large, 
couple-of-centtuies-old portrait of a nun Mrs. Nuttall 
had found in some convent looking down on us. As the 
poetry and beauty of that old civilization invaded me I 
thought, "This is what all of Mexico might be, and is 
not." Beautiful shell designs are over each door leading 
into rooms of romantic and unexpected proportions. 
Afterward we went down-stairs and passed through the 
courtyard, in one comer of which is an old well, over- 
grown with flowers, which has a history as dark as its 
depths. The body of Dona Catalina, the first wife of 
Cortes, is said by evilly disposed historians to have 
been thrown into it after a quarrel between herself and 
Cortes in the old near-by Palacio. 

As we walked in the garden I felt some strange magic 

^ The Casa de Alvarado was once the home of the American consul- 
general, Mr. Parsons, of regretted and appreciated memory, who was killed 
stepping out of a street-car in Mexico City. Mr. Laughton subsequent- 
ly was murdered while at his mining-camp. Of course this has nothing 
to do with the house, but its history, nevertheless, is bound up with 
such decrees of fate. 

2$ 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

exhaling from it all, something possessing and almost 
imploring. There were such lights and shadows, such 
contours of cypress and eucalyptus, mingling with quince 
and pear trees. The old arbor in the carrefour is over- 
grown with white roses, and the rest of the garden is 
a mass of lilies of various kinds, heliotrope, and great 
tangles of trailing pink geranium and honeysuckle. 
Blue-flowered papyri were clustered about a microscopic, 
water-lilied lake, quite black in the late afternoon 
light. Around all was an old pink, vine-grown wall. 
It was the hortus inclusus of poets, and I perceived then 
in its fullness the dark, lovely imprint of Spain upon the 
lands she conquered. The English, German, French 
stamp on their colonies that I have seen is pale, efface- 
able, and doubtless would be lost immediately once the 
power is withdrawn. But this Spanish stamp has a 
deathless beauty, and in all the washings of all the 
generations it does not seem to come out or off. 

I stay at home a good deal. It is so pleasant — and 
after so many years of the concurrences, of the displace- 
ments, the hastes and excitements of the great world, 
how I love this full leisure! After all, what is needed 
to make life interesting, I am discovering, is not action, 
but atmosphere, and that I have here. 

The President is very ill. I am deeply disappointed 
that our audience has to be put off. I want to see the 
old regime, now decidedly tottering, in its accustomed 
setting. It appears he has an ulcerated tooth, and there 
can be no receptions, formal or informal, in the present 
state of affairs. Indeed, I have not seen "hide or hair" 
of any of the actual government. Dofia Carmen, of 
whom I hear so many tales of goodness and tact, com- 
bined with the charming elegance of a woman of the 
world, seems adored by high and low, and is very 
Catholic, The not too drastic enforcement of the 

29 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

famous "Laws of Reform" is said to be due to her in- 
fluence. 

I have been looking into the history of Mexico since 
the "Independence" — to try to get some sort of a "line" 
on governmental psychology. So much bloodshed has 
always attended a change of government here. 

First came men like the priest Hidalgo and Morelos, 
his disciple, men of burning hearts and flaming souls. 
Then appeared a set of what to-day we would call in- 
tellectuals: Comonfort, Lerdo, Juarez are types. The 
long reign of Diaz was preceded by all sorts of up- 
heavals, in which any one who had anything to do with 
government lost his life. 

However, all this concerned the Mexicans alone. 
But now, with disorders menacing huge foreign interests, 
a new element of discord and complication comes in. 
As the generations renew them^selves with certainty and 
promptness, in the end the blow to things industrial is 
the most serious; and don't think me heartless for stat- 
ing this simple, cruel truth. Diaz seems at last pushed 
to the wall, and, of course, with him many foreign in- 
terests, which I understand are vital to the life of the 
country. He has had much wisdom, but the gods seem 
to have withheld knowledge of the very practical recom- 
mendation of one of the old philosophers about succumb- 
ing in time. He is supposed, however, to have prom- 
ised his resignation, if his conscience lets him. He fears 
anarchy, and, of course, he knows his people very, very 
well. 

Even I, stranger and alien, have a sort of feeling that 
if this revolution proves successful the "liberties" of 
the Mexican people will, as usual, get lost in the m^lee. 
Giuseppe Garibaldi is said to have received the sword 
from old General Navarro, when he gave it up at Juarez. 
Can courtesy to foreigners be carried further? The 

30 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

Boston Evening Transcript had an amusing bit, particu- 
larly so to me, saying the difficulty of finding out what 
is happening in Mexico is that of telling which are the 
names of the generals and which those of the towns. 

May 22d. 

I am at home to-morrow, Tuesday, for the first time, 
to whomever it may concern, taking the day every other 
week, as seems the custom here. Besides getting settled 
I have begun laying siege to the Spanish language with 
my dictionary and my special system; I must learn to 
read it immediately. An old copy of De Solis is what I 
am "at" now, Historia de la Conquista de Mexico, printed 
in Amsterdam, beautifully bound in red leather with 
gold tooling, dedicated al Serenisimo Senor Maximiliano 
Emanuel Duque de las Dos Bavieras. I gloated over its 
title-page, and its "chaste and elegant style" makes 
easy reading. 

The natural changes are so beautiful here. The day 
gives way to night without any twilight, but instead 
there is a sort of richly colored lining to the first dark- 
ness that has a suggestive, indescribable charm and 
mystery. When Mrs. Wilson and 1 drove home from 
the Casa de Alvarado yesterday a mass of amethystine 
shadows closed about us and all the world, and then in 
a moment it seemed to be night ; but as I got out of the 
motor I found the darkness was rich in the same way 
some very old, glinting brocade would be rich. 



Ill 

Mexico in full revolution — Diaz's resignation wrung from him — Mem- 
ories of the "King in Exile" — President de la Barra sworn in — Social 
happenings — Plan de San Luis Potosi. 

May 23d. 

MY first "Tuesday" was accompanied by a drench- 
ing rain, but the colleagues mostly showed up, 
noblesse oblige, each giving some rather disquieting items 
about the political situation, according to his special 
angle. 

Mrs. Wilson, who always does what it is "up" to her 
to do, of course came. We are the only nation here 
having an embassy. All the others have legations or 
agencies of some sort, or have turned their affairs over 
to the most related friendly nation on the spot. It 
puts the Embassy in a position of continual supremacy 
as far as rank and importance go. 

Mr. de Soto, the "Velasquez" of the French Legation 
dinner, came in late. He had spent last winter in Rome 
with the Duke and Duchess d'Arcos. The duke was 
Spanish minister here years ago. We talked of distant 
Roman friends. He has often been to Marie K.'s beauti- 
ful house. I shall enjoy seeing something of him. He 
knows Mexico in all its phases, and I find myself eager 
to turn the pages of this wonderful new chapter, which 
I feel should be written on maguey, not on mere paper. 

May 24th., midnight. 
Mexico is in full revolution, or, rather, in what seems 
the normal act of getting rid of the executive. At five- 

32 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

thirty I walked back to the Embassy with Mrs. Wilson, 
from the Japanese Legation near by, where we had been 
dallying with the German and Belgian ministers on 
Madame Horigutchi's day. 

The butler, watching at the door, rushed out to the 
gate when he saw us, in the greatest excitement, passing 
old Francisco, the Embassy gendarme, to say that five 
thousand people were making a demonstration in front 
of the Diaz house in the Calle de Cadena just back of the 
palace, and that there was going to be trouble. 

My one and instant thought was to get back to Calle 
Humboldt, to Elim, the falling of an empire being quite 
a side issue. Just then the ambassador drove up in his 
motor, having come by a roundabout way from Diaz's 
house, where he had been making inquiries as to the 
President's health. He had just escaped being caught 
up in the mob. 

I jumped into the motor, and he told Alonzo to take 
me home as quickly as possible. The growling, rumbling 
sound of a far-off mob is a disquieting thing, and I was 
trembling for my boy as I drove along. We had the 
thick doors of the courtyard entrance (the vestibule, or 
zagudn, as they call it) closed and barred, all the front 
shutters fastened, and soon were as snug as possible. 
Too snug to suit me, for, once my infant was safely barri- 
caded, I felt the spirit of adventure rising. 

N., who had been on an errand at the Foreign Office, 
where he heard the news, came running across the Paseo, 
thankful to find us all safely housed, with the further 
information that mitrailleuses had been placed on the 
palace roof, and that the police had fired on the crowd 
in the great square, who were shouting, " Death to Diaz!" 
many being killed and wounded. 

Later on, about nine o'clock, with Dearing and Arnold, 
who were dining with us, we sallied forth to go to the 

33 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

theater as we had planned. A drenching, torrential 
rain had come on. The streets along our route were 
completely deserted, the rain having dispersed the mob 
more efficaciously than the cannon. There were not 
more than a dozen people in the whole theater, "El 
Principal." The only inconvenience I had on that 
eventful night was being seated in front of three of our 
own compatriots, whose peculiar form of blasphemy got 
so on my nerves that I had us all change our seats be- 
fore we could even try to listen to a farce on the order 
of "Pagliacci," without the killing. 

As we came out there were no cabs to be had, not 
even a disreputable coche rojo, and we walked home down 
the Avenida San Francisco and the broad Avenida 
Juarez under umbrellas. The town had a general look 
and feeling of having been through something. All was 
barred and silent except a few broken shop-windows, 
whose owners had not been quick enough about their 
shutters. In the windows of one of the tea-rooms were 
piles of untouched cakes and candies. One had only 
to put one's hand out to get them. 

Farther along, huddled up on the steps of the gaudy 
Spanish exhibition building, were two tiny Indian boys 
not more than five or six years old, so sound asleep that 
their little hands refused to close over the pennies we 
tried to give them. We finally put the money, not in 
their pockets (they did not have enough clothes on to 
have pockets), but behind their little backs. They have 
probably been cold every night of their lives, so damp 
stone steps and a rainy street could not prevent their 
slumbers. 

Well, Madero is coming to change it all, to heal the 
antique sores of Mexico. "Ojald" (God grant), as I 
have discovered they are always saying when they aren't 
saying, "Quien sabeV I must put out my light. It 

34 




MADERO AND OROZCO IN I9II — MADERO AT THE LEFT 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

has been an exciting day. Even if you have not been 
fired on yourself, it's nervously disturbing to know that 
near-by people have been. 

Ascension Day. 

This morning the mob was shot down at the top of 
our street in the broad Plaza de la Reforma, between 
the Foreign Office and the statue of the Iron Horse. I 
felt myself not an innocent bystander, but a foolish one, 
as to the sound of quick-firing guns and screams I stepped 
out on the balcony and saw the mob running in all di- 
rections, some dropping as the guns placed by the 
statue turned with a horrible, regular slowness across the 
street. 

N. had rushed home from the Embassy by a side 
way, hearing that our street was the scene of action. 
I felt we ought to do something besides remaining be- 
hind closed doors when that agony was being enacted; 
but I was told by N. and Mr. Seeger, who came up from 
his office below to see how things were going, that 
Americans in general and the Embassy in particular 
should keep out of the trouble. In fact, it wasn't our 
fimeral. Police-attended stretcher-bearers appeared on 
the scene a Uttle later, and the streets were cleared of 
dead and wounded. 

N. sent a note to Limantour, to the Ministry of 
Finance, when things were at their hottest, thinking it 
might possibly suit his needs to be within our extra- 
territorial walls for a few hours. He sent back the 
most appreciative of notes, saying, however, that he 
had no alarm. 

A day or two ago, standing at the window, I saw him 

come out of the ministry. There is a clean-cutness 

about him and his Gallic origin is written all over him 

in an unmistakable elegance. He is considered by friend 

4 35 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

and foe alike to be absolutely incorruptible, and the 
only thing I have ever heard even whispered against him 
is that he is rich. However, the Romans that made the 
roads doubtless got rich, but they made the roads, which 
is what mattered to the Romans. On all sides are evi- 
dences of his taste as well as of his ability, for, besides 
creating modern financial Mexico and placing her on her 
golden feet, he laid out the park, he designed the uni- 
forms of the mounted guards there, beautified many of 
the streets, and in a hundred ways helped to make 
Mexico City what it now is. The Paseo, the beautiful 
avenue leading for several kilometers from the "Iron 
Horse" to the park, was laid out during Maximilian's 
time, and was known as the Calzada del Emperador; 
and the beautiful eucalyptus-trees that adorn it were 
planted by order of Carlota — tempi passati. 

May 25th, later. 

All quiet again in the shade of Popocatepetl and 
Ixtaccihuatl. To-day at 4.30 Diaz's resignation was 
finally wrung from him. 

There are picturesque tales of Dona Carmen standing, 
black-robed, by his side as he signed away his glory 
and power, and perhaps that of Mexico as well. A vast 
throng waited all day for the news before the closed 
doors of the Chamber of Deputies; but the mob is 
again simply a peaceful-appearing crowd, singing the 
national anthem and crying, ''Viva Madero!" inter- 
spersed with an occasional ''Viva De la Barral" 

I must dress for dinner at Hye de Glunek's, the 
Austrian charge — the only invitation any one has ac- 
cepted or given since some days. Mrs. W., who is 
always very kind, lends us the Embassy auto. One of 
the incidents yesterday was the looting of the pawn- 
shops. I am afraid the Paris Herald will have blood- 

36 



diplomatic: DAYS 

curdling accounts of the goings-on, and I will send a 
cable to you, hoping it will get through. In the midst 
of life we are no more in death here than elsewhere, 
and it is all extraordinarily interesting. 

May 26th. 

The streets were completely deserted last night as 
we drove home from the very excellent dinner at Hye's, 
at which the German and Belgian ministers, the French 
charge, the Spanish minister and his pretty daughter, 
the Romeros, et al., assisted. One sees no Mexicans 
of any political shade abroad these days, and the change 
of government has been effected mildly rather than 
otherwise, if one looks back over Mexican history. A 
few hundreds killed and wounded, a very few thousands 
of dollars damage done to property in town, and the 
great and long and glorious Diaz regime is a thing of the 
past. Mexico is to tread untrodden paths. 

Robles Dominguez, who is Madero's representative 
here, has been dashing about the streets on a big black 
horse accompanied by his followers, all wearing the 
national colors on their hats, promising in the name of 
Madero everything on earth to the people gathered at 
the various points where he speaks. In many places 
the tramcars leading to the different suburbs were taken 
possession of by the mob, who rode free, to carry the 
good news "from Ghent to Aix." The cars everywhere 
were simply plastered with them. 

Sefior de la Barra was sworn in as President of the 
republic in the afternoon. No anti-American riots, 
which were at one time feared, though the ambassador 
and his staff had the pleasant experience of being 
hissed as they went to the Camara for the ceremony. 
From the little balcony of the drawing-room I could 
see De la Barra quite plainly as he came down the Paseo, 

37 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

bowing on all sides, grave, but amiable and dignified, 
in the presidential coach, and across his breast the green- 
and-white-and-red sash of his high office. 

Glittering, blue-uniformed outriders with polished sil- 
ver helmets preceded him, and the crowd was rending 
the air with ' ' Viva De la Barral" 1 saw De la Barra with 
my physical eye, but I was thinking of the great old 
Indian, the maker and molder of Mexico, who was 
wont to go down the broad avenue in that same coach 
to the sound of vivas, and wondering would they see 
his like again. I am sending you a post-card photograph 
of Maximilian in uniform, and Carlota in a blue dress 
with many pearls, which is not really so beside the 
point. Diaz helped to close that epoch. We now wit- 
ness the closing of the Diaz epoch. ^ 

^I had three glimpses of the "King in Exile." First in Rome, the 
Easter Sunday of 1913, after the Madero tragedy. As I went across the 
Piazza Barberini I saw flying from the middle window of the piano 
nobile of the Hotel Bristol, the Mexican colors, floating there by what 
strange chance, the eagle holding in its claws the antique serpent against 
the green, white, and red. As I went up the stairway there were num- 
berless and unmistakable Mexicans on the landings, and several priests 
were waiting in the antechamber. 

Dona Carmen came in almost immediately with the "grand air" I 
had heard about, handsome and composed, a veritable queen in exile. 
She was dressed with extreme elegance and simplicity, in a perfectly 
plain, dark-blue gown; around her throat was a pearl necklace. After 
the greetings she seated me on the gaudy, gold-and-blue sofa, and took 
her place beside me. Once or twice her eyes filled as we spoke of Mexico, 
but mostly there was a remote look in them. 

When Don Porfirio entered the room I knew him for a leader of men. 
Anno Domini had weakened his will, perhaps, but had not bowed his 
proud figure nor dulled the piercing look in his eye, which I remember 
as hazel with a very large, light iris, the pupil dark and fiery. We could 
not but speak of the Madero tragedy, Don Porfirio talking in Spanish, 
I in French. I found myself sUghtly trembling. He repeated several 
times, "I foresaw it all — my method was the only one," and once he 
added, "How shall one judge men other than by results?" I saw in his 
eye that same remoteness which I think an observer would have found 
in mine also; for instead of the gaudy hotel room I saw Chapultepeo 

38 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

May 27tlu 
Though the mob turned into the tamest thing possible 
in mobs, and the revolution into the tamest thing pos- 
sible in revolutions, I keep thinking how both did their 
work and how never again will Diaz drive up the beautiful 
Paseo, receiving the plaudits of the people. The town 
is busy preparing for the reception of Madero and for the 
elections. General Reyes is still feared by the new 
party. Madero said to one of our newspaper corre- 
spondents the other day that the only unfavorable thing 
in the Cabinet was the admission of General Reyes as 

high up, swung in a strange transparency and Don Porfirio's destiny 
blocked out against it. 

In Paris, that same summer of 191 3, at the Hotel Astoria, I witnessed 
another etape of the painful, unfit Odyssey from hotel to hotel. The 
antechamber was filled with their luggage, plastered with endless hotel 
tabs. Don Porfirio's mien was not quite so majestic, his heart was 
more broken, his hope less, his years seemed heavier, and they were un- 
certain where next to turn their steps, to San Sebastian or to some "cure" 
in Switzerland. 

On my way back to Mexico on the Espagne, September, 1913, I 
was sitting idly watching the Spanish shores off Santander. There were 
some Syrians on board suspected of quien sabe what disease, and we 
were not allowed to go ashore to visit the old town. About four o'clock 
a small launch was seen approaching. In it were Don Porfirio and Dona 
Carmen and Don Porfirio's daughter. Dona Amada (Madame de la Torre), 
whom they were bringing to the ship, which was crowded with returning 
Mexicans, anticipating the pacification of the country by Huerta. At 
the news that the "grand old man" was in the launch there was a rush 
for the railing. Don Porfirio could not come on board on account of the 
quarantine. It was a tragic moment when he took his daughter in his 
arms, and many eyes filled with tears as she tore herself from him and 
came hurriedly up the gangway. Farewells were waved as the launch 
turned toward the land. Don Porfirio, upright, majestic, motionless, 
had his eyes fixed on the ship with its prow toward Mexico. Who would, 
if he could, have searched his heart or said of what he was thinking, the 
old, the illustrious, the once powerful, in " the fell clutch of circumstance"? 

As long as I live his figure will be to me the sign and symbol of nostal- 
gia, as he stood in the small launch, his head bared under the brilliant 
sky, the bright spot of his red necktie accenting the whiteness of his 
hair, watching with longing eyes the ship turned toward the land which 
had given him birth, and which he in return had made great and honor- 
able among nations. 

39 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

Minister of War, and that the members of the Cabinet 
and governors of states would be selected later by him- 
self and De la Barra. It looks as if in the apportioning 
out of the plums the first seeds of discord will be sown 
in the new political garden. 

Yesterday we went motoring with Mr. S. and Bear- 
ing over the great, beautiful hills to the west. Some- 
thing like Italy and yet not at all like it in the feeling 
of light and color. For the first time I looked down on 
the city from a great height, seemingly on a level with 
the hills that hold the cup -like valley, and I saw again 
in all their beauty the two shining volcanoes flanked 
by the matchless hills. There was an immense exhilara- 
tion in the fitting of the mind to such a remote and 
gorgeous horizon, and suddenly I found it did not matter 
if it were peopled or not ; it seemed quite complete, even 
humanly. There was a wonderful lightness about the 
air. Little puffs that one could not call wind came and 
brushed our faces with a brilliant yet feathery feeling. 
The Ajusco hills with their suggestions of brigands (I 
have not been thinking much of brigands since the 
tales of Raisuli and Perducaris and Miss Annie Stone) 
gave a "human" touch to the whole. 

In going out of the city we passed through Tacubaya, 
a very attractive suburb with handsome houses hidden 
in great gardens, and an old palace of some archbishop; 
but the most interesting thing about it was the Indian 
market, spread out on the steep, cobblestoned high- 
way. There was just enough room for the motor to 
pass between the mats on which were spread their 
wares. Great piles of pottery, bright rolls of cotton, 
were laid on squares of cloth, or little mats made of 
rushes, and there were infinitesimal groupings of eat- 
ables of various kinds, little piles of five nuts, or three 
oranges, or little heaps of melon-seed, or beans. 

4Q 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

Indians, picturesque beyond description, were bend- 
ing, selling, buying, just as they have done since pre- 
historic days. It was the brightest bit of color I have 
ever seen, with the thread of Indian life that it was 
strung on. The Indians compose themselves into beau- 
tiful pictures everywhere, and further on the road was 
full of pottery-makers, bent beneath their huge loads, 
basket-makers, sandal-makers, women and children 
equally laden, going with their quick Aztec trot to their 
journey's end. 

All was quiet in the little villages through which we 
passed. I wonder if they know something has hap- 
pened to their Mexico? 

May 29th. 

In the revolutionary lull we have all been vaccinated, 
and I have been looking into the drinking-water ques- 
tion quite exhaustively. 

I felt rather discouraged when the doctor suggested 
boiling even the mineral water, Tehuacan, from a place 
near Orizaba. In general the microbe question keeps 
foreigners busy, and more alarmed if they have children 
than the sound of artillery. One has to learn to live 
here. The food leaves much to be desired, and if we 
were delicate or gourmets, there would be a great deal 
of difficulty ahead. 

Friday Mr. and Mrs. Wilson and the Embassy staff 
come for dinner, the first time I will have had any one 
except those dropping in informally. I don't know how 
it will turn out. There is a nice American range in the 
kitchen, but the cook, it seems, prefers the classic brasero, 
and a turkey wing to fan the coals. It is not as primitive 
as it sounds, however, for the brasero is a t led affair 
and has holes on the top for saucepans. They say the 
American stove would make even the saints too hot. 

41 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

How they produce the nice roasts or bake with the 
thing is a mystery to me. 

However, the whole cooking business is beyond me, 
though I have put an embargo on rinones (kidneys). 
Every time there is a halt in remarks about the menu, 
Teresa suggests rinones, which I despise with my whole 
soul. I am not enthused by organs, anyway, as food. 
I would put an embargo on cabrito (kid), but stewed it's 
objectively one of the best dishes she prepares, and I 
would eat it under another name. A certain sopa de 
frijoles would be nice anywhere, and with slices of lemon 
and hard-boiled egg in it is really delicious, and recalls 
vaguely the thick mock-turtle soup of my native land. 
There is a "near" apricot, called chabacano, ripe at this 
season, but it's only "near," and there are quantities 
of small, fragrant strawberries. 

At Hye de Glunek's I ate, for the first time, the very 
fine mango, in its perfection. The eating recalls stories 
of the original fountain-pen and the bath-tub, but the 
fruit is delicious, even the first time you eat it, with a 
slightly turpentiny, very clean taste, and cascades of 
juice. There is a way of sticking a single-pronged fork 
into one end, while you peel it with a knife, and then 
proceeding, which makes its consumption possible in 
public. 

To-day we lunched with the British charge in his 
temporary quarters, as the new Legation, which is going 
to be a delightful dwelHng, built with some regard for 
latitude and longitude and altitude, is not yet ready 
for occupation. Hohler came to Mexico from Con- 
stantinople, and wherever he goes collects works of 
art. In his apartment were all sorts of quite beautiful. 
Oriental bric-a-brac and hangings, which, somehow, did 
not seem as Oriental here as they would in other places. 
Simon, the newly arrived French Inspecteur des Finances 

42 




Photograph by Ravell 



MEXICAN WOMEN SELLING TORTILLAS 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

of the Banco Nacional, with a brilliant Balkan record 
behind him, was also there with his wife. They are 
"enjoying" the Hotel de Geneve, while awaiting the 
arrival of their Lares and Penates, stalled somewhere 
between Vera Cruz and Mexico City, and Madam S.'s 
maid is already down with typhoid fever. 

Yesterday, when N. boarded the tram, a smartly 
dressed, handsome Frenchwoman had just got on with 
neither Mexican money nor vocabulary. He came to 
her assistance, and they felt quite like long-separated 
friends on discovering "who was who" at the luncheon. 
In the center of the table was a lovely silver bowl of old 
Mexican artisanship, filled with unfamiliar, theatrical- 
looking fruits. I compromised on a granadita, which is 
like a pomegranate in color and taste, but small and 
oblong in shape. Of course the "old hands" were try- 
ing to enlighten the new-comers, but it was rather the 
blind leading the blind. Nobody can tell what the 
gigantic political changes will lead to, or what this new 
wine of fraternity and equality, fermenting in the oldest 
of bottles, will do to their heads. A gentle joke as we 
got up from the table, about the pictures in last week's 
Semana Ilustrada (showing insurrectos burning bridges), 
to the effect that the national sport might soon prove 
to be la promenade, if artless, was more to the point. 

There is a good deal of talk here about something 
called the "Plan de San Luis Potosi," apparently the 
building stones of a new Mexico. It's the manifesto 
Madero made at that town in the early stages of his 
revolution, a rather personal and arbitrary political 
document, in which he declares himself the mouthpiece 
of the nation's will, and pronounces the last election of 
Don Porfirio illegal. It was, as far as I can see — which 
is not, of course, very far — like all his other "elections." 
Madero finished by saying that the republic being with- 

43 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

out a legitimate government, he assumes the provisional 
presidency. It's so simple it may succeed, and the Diaz 
government left a comfortable sum in the treasury to 
begin operations with, some sixty-five millions. 

May 31st. 

The "official" family dinner went off all right, so I 
am having the ambassador and Mrs. Wilson, Von 
Hintze, Hye, the Austrian charge, and De Vaux to dinner 
on Sunday — eight in all. This is the limit, not of the 
table and the dining-room, but possibly of the hand- 
maidens. Leclerq, who is departing for Brussels and the 
Foreign Office, has given me the use, till I have made 
other arrangements, of his table-silver. I do, indeed, 
sigh for the silver and linen in Vienna. 

Madame de la Barra receives the Corps Diplomatique 
on Saturday afternoon. It will be her inaugural reception 
as first lady in the land, and, indeed, the first complete 
tableau of the chers colUgues that I will have seen since 
our arrival. I suppose I will get a glimpse, at least, 
of some of the up-to-now invisible Mexican statesmen. 

Life goes on here quietly, as far as I am personally 
concerned, but underneath it all there is the unmistak- 
able beat and throb of changing governments, the 
passing of the old order, the beginning of the new, with 
all its potentialities. It is a many-colored background. 
I am sending an illustrated paper of the shooting done 
by the mob in my street, La Semana Ilustrada, which is 
printed at the other end of Calle Humboldt, as is also 
La Prensa, a newspaper belonging to Francisco Bulnes, 
the cleverest of the publicists here, and a star among 
the intellectuals. I am between the making of history 
and its annals. 

The Courrier du Mexique and the Mexican Herald 1 
read daily. The Courrier du Mexique et de V Europe 

44 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

(Ancien Trait d' Union) was founded in 1849, and has 
survived many vicissitudes and many governments. Its 
files would make strange reading, with their succession of 
political hails and farewells — or rather farewells and hails. 

Gabrielle is doing very well, though she is suffering 
from Heimweh for Vienna. The Austrian charge sends 
me accumulations of the Neue Freie Presse to sweeten 
what she calls "diese Mexico." The Indian maids are 
almost too good to be true. There's a dusting and a 
sweeping going on that would satisfy a better housewife 
than myself. 

I am quite in love with my street — it has so much for 
the eye, so much to intrigue the imagination. As I told 
you, just opposite is the Finance Ministry. Endless 
motors belonging to the old and new regime and the 
intermediate, the Trait d' Union regime, fraternize in front 
of it. Diagonally across is the home of Diaz's son, 
Porfirio, who seems to have neither the talents nor the 
ambitions of his father. The house is a very Mexican- 
looking affair, though not after the good old models. 
It is a reddish pink, with superfluous cupolas and bay 
windows, all lined with pale blue. Great vines of the 
magenta-colored Bougainvillea, "the glory of Mexico," 
hanging everywhere, further enliven it. The tiny tri- 
angular garden also has various obstreperous and violent- 
colored botanical specimens. 

A little farther down the street, however, is the real 
gem, for there I perceived, in passing, storied Spanish- 
American life being enacted. It's a low one-storied 
house with heavily grated windows, only a couple of 
feet up from the street. Behind that grating I actually 
saw a pink-robed senorita sitting, with a flower in her 
hair and a letter, which I knew must have been a love 
letter, in her hand, all just as it ought to be, as far as 
local color is concerned. 

45 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

The other night, hearing the sound of music, I stepped 
out on the balcony. Behold! there were the outlines of 
some kind of Romeo playing the mandolin, in front of 
that window. It's so complete, so ridiculously like what 
it ought to be, you will think I have added something, 
but you don't have to add anything here; it's always all 
there. That end of the street is where the offices of 
La Prensa and of La Semana Ilustrada are, and the 
little newsboys (papeleros) bring things quite up to date 
when they dash past crying out new editions. 

The other end of the street, which is short, gives 
on the Plaza de la Reforma, where the new, handsome 
Foreign Office is, and the beautiful equestrian statue of 
Charles the Fourth of Spain, which Humboldt said 
could only be compared to that of Marcus Aurelius on 
the Campidoglio. There are two or three handsome 
houses belonging to Mexicans between me and the Plaza. 
The Suinagas', whose daughter is married to a French 
diplomat, and the Saldivars', next the Finance Ministry, - 

are other houses in the good old style of several genera- " 

tions ago. In former days the streets were familiarly 
spoken of as calks de Dios (streets of God) ; pious, pict- 
uresque, but probably not resembling those of our 
eternal abiding-place! 




NELSON O SHAUGHNESSY 

(Secretary of the American Embassy, 
Mc:;ico, 1911-1912) 





PAUL LEFAIVRE 

(French Minister to Mexico, 191 1) 



FRANCISCO LEON DE LA BARRA 

(President ad interim of the Mexican 

Republic between Diaz and Madero) 



IV 

First reception at Chapultepec Castle— First bull-fight— A typical Mexi- 
can earthquake — Madero's triumphal march through Mexico City — 
Three days of adoration 

June 4th. 

YESTERDAY we went to the De la Barras' first 
reception, a tea neither formal nor informal, at 
beautiful Chapultepec, lifted high up on the historic 
hill overlooking the city and the beauteous valley, in 
its gorgeous setting of mountains and volcanoes. 

There is a pretty grotto-like modem entrance at the 
foot o^ the hill which takes visitors to the elevator, a 
shaft pierced in the rock, and from the darkness one 
steps suddenly on to the enchantment of the terraces 
with their matchless view. There is a winding road 
which takes longer, ending at the great iron gateway of 
the military school, and one must cross the broad terrace, 
where the cadets are walking about or drilling. 

Madame de la Barra, herself a widow, the sister of the 
President's first wife, has only been married a few 
months, and is smiling, fair, and un-Mexican-looking, of 
Swiss descent. She was daintily dressed in some sort 
of beige chiffon with pearls about her neck, and had 
easy, pleasant manners. 

There was no chance for conversation. The whole 
Diaz set, with very few exceptions, has vanished, not 
into thin air, but into retirement or Europe, and society 
will have to be reorganized from new elements. These 
new elements did not seem at first view to be very 

47 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

malleable. A circle of iron, in the shape of ladies — old, 
middle-aged, and young — kept formed about Madame 
de la B., and I was wedged in, for quite a while, between 
a granddaughter of Juarez wearing, among other things, 
a huge and, it appears, historic emerald pendant, and a 
young, inquiring-looking woman. I mean inquiring for 
these climes, where external phenomena only remotely 
give rise to speculation. She was in a decollete mauve 
passementerie-trimmed gown, with a train — what we 
would call an evening dress. The experienced foreign 
diplomats mostly kept outside the circle. 

Mr. de la B. was moving about the beautiful flower- 
planted terraces, smiling, suave, homme du monde, as 
well as President of Mexico, but the skein from which 
he is to knit the national destinies is somewhat tangled. 
He and Mr. Wilson were colleagues in Brussels. Now 
the turn of the wheel has made him President, and Mr. 
Wilson ambassador. 

Some of the well-seasoned foreigners were predicting 
immediate difficulties in the disbanding of the revolu- 
tionary forces, which seem to be composed of those who 
don't want to be disbanded, those who want to be dis- 
banded immediately, and those who want to be bandits. 

I must say I found it all very interesting — a little gem 
of a picture of life in Mexico. As a sudden darkness rose 
up from the valley, rather than fell from the sky, one of 
the volcanoes gone suddenly blue, the other still aflame, 
the gathering melted away. 

June 6th. 

Yesterday, Pentecost Sunday, I went to Mass in the 
cathedral where Maximilian and Carlota were crowned, 
and Iturbide and his consort. It is a large, ornate 
structure, though the lowish roof, earthquake height, 
I suppose, takes away from the effect of the interior. 
Three huge altars and a choir also combine to spoil the 

48 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

perspective, but it is imposing and the outside is a lovely- 
grayish pink. It is built on the site of the great Aztec 
temple, over countless images and remains of the 
teocali (temple), which the conquerors demolished as 
soon as they got their breath, after the taking of the 
city. 

I found it full of a multicolored crowd. The Indians 
were most in evidence, but there were all sorts and con- 
ditions of people. Despite what is said to the contrary, 
the Church has an enormous influence on life here — on 
institutions, habits, and customs. The convents, monas- 
teries, and seminaries were suppressed in 1859, ^^^ ^*^ 
one since has been allowed to leave money or property 
to the Church by will, but here as elsewhere there is no 
way to prevent the Church from getting rich. With a 
constantly renewing collection of individuals having no 
personal wants, concerned largely with the promises of 
another life, the aggregate of their activities through the 
ages will always be enormous in the way of mathe- 
matical progression; and I don't see in a free world why 
they haven't as much right to spend their money and 
energies that wa^^ as in the usual spending for personal 
and mundane aims. 

In the afternoon we went to the bull-fight ; it was De 
la Barra's first appearance at one as President of the 
republic, and a great occasion. The vast crowd was 
very enthusiastic. We saw every color of garment, 
every shade of face, every shape of hat, under the blue, 
blue sky. We de la haute, or, for that matter, anybody 
who can pay the price, sit in the shady side of the ring. 
The sunny half is occupied by dazzled, smiling Indians. 

The President was greeted by the magnificently played 
national air, and the stirring of the great concourse as it 
rose, and the vivas, had a something impressive. A 
moment or two after, the entrada took place. 

49 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

Some beloved matador, whose name I don't know, was 
greeted with cheers that rivaled those offered to the 
President. He had on a gorgeous blue-and-gold cloak, 
resting on one shoulder, the body of the cloak caught 
up and held with the left hand on the left hip, leaving 
the right arm free. He was followed by other less- 
resplendent individuals (the men of his cuadrilld), and 
soon the ball really opened by the dashing out of the 
door of a splendid dark bull. 

I hid my eyes at the goring of the horses, poor old 
Rosinantes that they were, ready for the grave, and 
other high-lights of the occasion. The President gave 
many purses. It was a very expensive afternoon, doubt- 
less, but it will increase his political popularity. The 
gaily-dressed toreros would go up to the box after their 
special "coups," and, with uncovered heads, hold out 
their hats, and he would lean forward and present the 
purses. At one time the arena was covered by hats of 
all sizes and descriptions thrown by enthusiasts, and 
returned to them by the various bull-fighters. As you 
will suspect, however, "bull-fight me no bull-fights." It 
isn't one of those things that it will please me some day 
to have done, according to the Latin poet. I would like 
to sponge it out of memory. 

The dinner here this evening was not a success. Per- 
haps the scent of the bull-fight hung around me still or 
perhaps the personal elements did not combine chemi- 
cally. The dinner itself was all right. There is a 
delicious, fat-breasted quail {codorniz) to be had at this 
season. The conversation was of prophecies concerning 
the 7th, when Madero, the "Messiah," the "Bridegroom 
of Mexico," whom he is to lead into paths of peace and 
plenty, is to enter the city. I kept quoting: 

"One man, with a dream at pleasure. 
Shall go forth and conquer a crown." 
50 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

June 7th. 

This morning, at 4.30, the town was shaken by a 
tremendous earthquake. I was awakened by the violent 
swaying of the house, so violent that as I jumped up I 
could not keep on my feet. There was a sound as of a 
great wind at sea, and on all sides the breaking of china 
and the falling of pictures. Elim, who was fortunately 
sleeping in my room, awakened and clung to me, asking, 
' ' What is the matter with the ship ? " N. was calling from 
his room and trying to open the door. 

My first thought was that we were in some dreadful, 
mysterious storm, not of earthquake. When things had 
quieted down a little, and I could get to the window, I 
looked out. The streets were full of people in their 
night garments, in the most complete demoralization, 
some on their knees, others under the lintels of the 
doors. There was a groaning and a calling on God, 
accompanied by a still very sensible movement of the 
roof -line. Servants finally appeared, white and terror- 
stricken, with long, black hair floating down their backs 
and their shoulders, hunched up under their rebozos. 

I was sorry for the damage done to the S.s' nice 

things — by shipwreck and earthquake. Our house is 

■a good old house, strongly built in a finn quadrangle; 

yet the shape of my room at one moment was not 

square, but diamond-shaped ! 

Later. 

1 have just come back from a look about town. I saw 
the wrecked barracks in the Puente de Alvarado. Sixty 
soldiers were buried under the debris, and the ambu- 
lanciers were bringing out the silent, plaster-covered 
forms as we passed. A big warehouse at one of the 
railways was completely wrecked, but there was no loss 
of life as the employees, of course, were not there at that 
hour. Everywhere were great ruts and splits in the 
6 51 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

streets, which looked, in places, as if they had been 
plowed up. 

We took a turn through the Avenida San Francisco, 
gaily flagged like all the streets through which Madero 
is to pass. All Mexico seemed afield, despite the fact 
that we may have another "quake" at any moment. 
At the corner of the historic Church of La Prof esa great 
crowds were gathered, looking up at the ancient dome 
and nave, rent in several places. Police were standing 
in front of the carved doors, in the Calle de Motolinia, 
to prevent the foolish, as well as the pious, from entering. 
It is very much out of plumb, anyway, having suffered 
from other earthquakes in other centuries, when, I sup- 
pose, the same sort of crowd gathered about it. 

Everybody had a sickly, surprised, pale look, and 
many, it appears, suffer acute nervous attacks after 
such an experience. It is the biggest earthquake they 
have had here in several generations. Mexico City 
being built on boggy, spongy land is what alone has 
preserved it from complete destruction on various 
occasions. 

Some speak of Madero 's being heralded in by this 
convulsion of nature as a bad augury : others see in it a 
sign from heaven. I say, qui vivra, vena. 

Madero was supposed to reach Mexico City at ten 
o'clock, and begin his triumphal march from the station 
through the great thoroughfares, down the Paseo, the 
Avenida Juarez, the Avenida San Francisco, to the 
palace; but it is now 2 p.m. and he has not yet 
come. As the day wears on the earthquake begins to 
be interpreted solely as a manifestation of Divine Provi- 
dence in his favor. No soldiery out. This, I am told, 
is to show the mob that they are trusted by their cham- 
pion and savior. It strikes me as a bit too trusting; 
if any excitement does arise among the mob, already 

52 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

unsteadied by the earthquake shock, how will these 
people be controlled ? 

Evening. 

At three o'clock Madero passed down the Paseo. Our 
enthusiasm had somewhat abated after the long wait, 
but we stood up in a motor in front of our door, and 
could see the immense concourse acclaiming him. There 
was a great noise of vivas, mingling with shouts of all 
kinds, tramping of feet, and blowing of motor horns. 

I could just get a glimpse of a pale, dark-bearded man 
bowing to the right and left. I kept repeating to myself : 
"Qui r a fait roif qui Va couronnef — la victoire." 

It appears that his departure from his ancestral home 
in Parras, and the journey down, have been one of the 
most remarkable personal experiences in all history. 
There were three days of continual plaudits and adora- 
tion, such as only the Roman emperors knew (or perhaps 
Roosevelt when he went through Europe). 

People came from far and near, in all sorts of con- 
veyances or on foot, just to see him, to hear his voice, 
even to touch his garments for help and healing. It 
appears he had a wonderful old grandfather, Evaristo, 
founder of what promises to be a dynasty, who died just 
before we came to Mexico, and who, it is said, had mis- 
givings about the strange turn of the family fortunes. 

Well, it is a curious experience to see a people at the 
moment of what they are convinced is their salvation, 
to see the man they hail as "Messiah" enter their 
Jerusalem. I can think of no lesser simile. The only 
thing they didn't shout was "Hosanna." The roofs 
were black with people along his route. Many threw 
flowers and green branches as he passed. As for the 
equestrian statue of Charles IV., in the Plaza, it was 
alive with people, who clung all over it, climbing to the 
top, sitting on Charles's head, hanging to his horse's tail. 

53 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

Madero could make no speech on his arrival here — 
loss of voice and sick headache, I see by the evening 
newspaper. The journey and this climax of his entry 
into the capital doubtlessly overwhelmed his mortality. 
The crowd, however, was too intent upon its own expe- 
riences to feel any lack. The "redeemer " was with them 
and his mere presence seems to have been sufficient, 

June 8th. 

It is after dinner; N. has gone back to the chancery. 
All doors and windows are open, and a cool, thin, dry 
night breeze, most lovely, is blowing in. 

I sent a Mexican Herald about the temblor and the 
entry of Madero, The streets are not yet quiet, though 
the vivas for Madero have somewhat died down. 

Even that crowd had its physical limits. I can't 
understand why, when the streets are burst open, great 
rifts everywhere, especially in the neighborhood of the 
Embassy, that there not a vase or a photograph was 
upset, though some heavy bookcases filled with books, 
in the basement, were thrown to the ground. 

I am reading The Relations of Bernal Diaz, companion 
and chronicler of the Cortes expedition. It is quite the 
most romantic, realistic bit of literature I ever got hold 
of, and has, here on the spot, a double-distilled charm. 
I was interrupted for a day by the arrival of that other 
conqueror. 

June gth. 

Knowing how anxious you would be, I cabled on the 
7th ; now comes your cable asking for news and an 
announcement from the cable office here that my cable 
has been returned. It appears the employee just omitted 
Zurich; the address, Waldhaus, he explained in the note, 
he thought would be enough — the effect of the earth- 
quake on his brain, I suppose. 

54 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

It appears the New York newspapers said Mexico 
City was nearly destroyed. You must have been on 
the qui vive for two days. If the earthquake had been 
up to the newspaper account, you would doubtless not 
have heard. 

People holding property here are not worrying about 
natural phenomena. The ever-increasing banditry all 
over the country, murders of people on isolated haciendas, 
and general dislocation of business and lawlessness are 
what worry them. A swift sliding down into the old 
pre- Diaz brigandage is feared. The slopes are so 
attractive to the dissatisfied and uncontrolled. Facilis 
est descensus. 

Madero has publicly announced that he will encourage 
American investments, but that he will oppose all trusts 
and unjust concessions. It sounds almost too reason- 
able to be true. He made these statements from some 
place in the north when he promised to liberate all 
political prisoners and all prisoners of war. This revolu- 
tion in Mexico has been full of contrasts, to say the least. 
Has any one ever seen such an anomaly as we witnessed 
here? The heads of a solid, recognised government 
turning over their offices to a relatively few armed 
opponents. I put it all on Anno Domini, not because 
so-called democratic principles have suddenly won a 
miraculous victory. The old dictator's hand was weak- 
ened by the stronger hand of time — and a "man with a 
dream at pleasure," etc. 

Found your letter of May 26th on returning from a 
motor drive with Dearing and Mr. S. to a beautiful old 
town, Texcoco, where Nezahualcoyotl, the Marcus 
Aurelius of Mexico, lived. 

Except the ancient sun-dial in the palm-planted Plaza, 
however, there is little to recall that civilization. A big 
church, built by the friars on the spot of the old temple, 

55 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

was filled with the usual Indian population, sitting and 
kneeling with their children and their burdens, and as 
mysterious as that Cortes found worshiping Huitzilo- 
pochtli, or any of their other gods. The Indians are 
religious, rather in the Oriental sense, it seems to me, 
than in any way resembling ours. It is certainly not 
given to the lower-class Anglo-Saxon to kneel with 
intent, uplifted eyes, outstretched arms, motionless, 
before some reminder of an invisible God. It does not 
take us that way. It seems to be as much a part of the 
Indian's life, that going in and out of churches, as eating 
or drinking, and just as essential, and why that habit, 
which seems to compensate for so many things obviously 
lacking, should be a reproach to those who instilled it 
I can't see. It's all most interesting to me, fresh from 
Prescott and Bernal Diaz. A crumbling, picturesque 
monastery and inconceivably desolate, dusty seminary 
join the church where the friars used to teach. Oh, the 
poor friars! There is so little account taken of their 
ceaseless activities, of how they found a wilderness, dot-' 
ted it with churches, schools, and hospitals, stamped it 
with a seal of matchless beauty, brought it out of the 
worship of greedy gods, human sacrifices, and abom- 
inations, counting no cost, and showed as best they 
might dim shapes of more benign powers. I can't see 
what all the hue and cry is about, all the revilings. We 
couldn't match the record. We have disfigured Mex- 
ico wherever we have set our seal. Frankly, I'm for 
the friars. 

One enters Texcoco by a broad, broken street leading 
into the Plaza. Interspersed too liberally between the 
once handsome low dwellings are the pink-and-blue 
pulque-shops, with their fringes of colored tissue-paper. 
The names of these depositories of the licor divino are 
often curiously bound up with the history of Mexico, 

56 




Photograph by Ravell 



A ROAD-SIDE SHRINE 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

and make you feel you have got hold of the "real thing." 
La Hija del Emperador'^ and La Reina Xochitl, a beau- 
teous patrician, married to a Toltec king, go back to 
prehistoric days. El Gran Napoleon, with cocked hat 
and hand in his breast, painted almost life-size on a cor- 
ner shop, was more picturesque than the one that had a 
hand in the making of their history. La Mujer del Mora 
gives the Moorish touch, and La Estrella del Mar recalls 
the buccaneers as well as the ages of faith. There was 
a very good one near the little viceregal bridge, with 
its battered coat of arms, just before we got into Texcoco, 
called Las Bergantinas, in memory of the spot where 
Cortes launched his brigantines in his attempt to take 
Mexico City, which then was only reached from Tex- 
coco by water. I feel on quite intimate terms with the 
conqueror. It is Cortes here, and Cortes there, and 
Cortes everywhere. He put his seal on the whole 
country; and one walks quite intimately and enthusias- 
tically with him. He was such a human sort of person, 
and with all his adventurous spirit very grand seigneur. 
Bernal Diaz tells how well and smartly he dressed, being 
very particular about his linen, under dark, rich gar- 
ments, and inclining to a fine gem somewhere on his per- 
son, and how pleasantly he played cards, with little 
jokes running through it all. It reminds me of bridge 
evenings with the chers colUgues. But all is historic on 
this lovely plateau. They can pull down everything and 
wash it in the most modern of blood, and the scent of 
ancient and adventurous deeds will hang round it still. 
The valley was swimming in a sort of gauzy luminosity, 
not just light; the volcanoes, well washed yesterday after- 
noon, were at their most beautiful. We could not bear 

*"The Daughter of the Emperor," "Queen Xochitl," "The Great 
Napoleon," "The Wife of the Moor," "The Star of the Sea," "The 
Brigantines." 

57 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

to turn homeward and went out through the old town, 
which had also enjoyed a viceregal popularity, as fine 
old doors and glimpses of vistas into large courtyards 
showed. 

These patios of Mexico are most attractive. One is 
forever peeking in through doorways of strange houses, 
where flowers, children, washing, mattresses, water-jars, 
dogs, sometimes a palm or a cypress, contrive to make 
something always alluring and mostly lovely. We 
lunched late in the auto, under the shade of some 
eucalyptus- trees, and then pressed on through the 
lovely hills and over meadow-bounded roads till we 
got to the little village of Magdalena, where an inde- 
scribable melancholy mingled with the slanting bronze 
afternoon light filtering through the shade of the old 
trees. A grassy Plaza, planted with cypresses and pat- 
terned with sunken escutcheoned grave-slabs, led to the 
pinkish-gray church with its lovely old Spanish doors. 
A crumbling, broadly scalloped pink wall, with flowers, 
vines, and spiky green things clinging to it everywhere, 
surrounded the whole. The warm, lustrous air fell 
about us Hke a lovely garment. It was a place of 
enchantment, where we seemed to clasp hands, for a 
moment, with a past age of exceeding beauty. 

June nth. 

Now that the political excitements have calmed down, 
the dinners have begun again. The Italian Legation on 
Tuesday, the Japanese on Thursday (Madame Hori- 
gutchi is a Belgian), the Belgian minister the next day, 
and there is a dinner at the Embassy on Saturday. On 
the 2 2d the British charge gives a coronation house- 
warming in the new Legation, which is not yet finished 
enough for him to really move into. 

Yesterday was again Mr. Wilson's day, and very 

58 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

pleasant. The handsome rooms were filled with roses 
in their last blooming. The rains wash them out at this 
season, and indeed at any season they must be plucked 
at sunrise or they quickly fade at this altitude. The 
buffet was lavishly spread, Mrs. Wilson dedicated a 
becoming blue dress, just arrived from Brussels, and I 
had on what the Mexican Herald kindly called this 
morning an "exquisite creation of painted chiffon." 

The first visitor was Madame de la Barra, with her 
sweet manner and amiable, unstudied expression, also 
freshly and Frenchily garbed. I think she would like to 
branch out and do some entertaining during their short 
and uncertain tenure. The great castle, with its ravishing 
terraces, its large spaces, calls for functions. Mrs. Bed- 
ford made affectionate inquiries for you. Many of the 
colleagues came, and many Americans. There was a 
pleasant coming and going all the afternoon. Mr. James 
Brown -Potter and Mr. Butler, who lives with him, came 
in late, further enlivening things, as seems to be their 
wont, and last the ambassador and N., just in from 
Saturday golf, which, at this season, politically and from 
the point of view of weather, is a more than usually 
uncertain game. 

The murder of three hundred and three Chinamen at 
Torreon has made a great row. We were surprised and 
faintly amused to learn that China demands an indem- 
nity of one million from Mexico. Has Chinese life ever 
been so high? The whole thing was a horror, however. 
Terrible atrocities were committed by the troops under 
Emilio Madero. The Chinamen were mostly market- 
gardeners peacefully cultivating vegetables in gardens 
back of their little houses, through which they were 
hunted and shot down like so many rabbits. There are 
other horrors related of tying them to horses headed in 
different directions, of babies on bayonets, etc. It is a 

59 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

most regrettable little fling on the part of the ' ' Liberat- 
ing" Army. Madero, very averse to shedding blood, 
is said to be horrified at the occurrence. 

It makes me sad to think that, after a century of 
.blood, all is still before the Mexican people, who have 
left the seemingly solid land of the dictatorship and are 
headed straight for the mirage of an impossible equality. 

June 14th. 

Last night was the big dinner at the Italian Legation. 
Countess Massiglia is an American. I sat between Von 
Hintze, whom I like very much, and Mr. Brown, presi- 
dent of the National Railway. Dear Mrs. Harriman 
sent us a letter to him, saying we might need "sudden 
transportation . ' ' 

Mr. B. is a power here, one of the twentieth-century 
conquerors and civilizers. Brains, energy, courage, have 
taken him far along his successful career, and, inci- 
dentally, helped to cover Mexico with railways. It was 
most interesting hearing at first hand how the curtain 
had been rung down on the Diaz epoch, for it was he 
who had arranged for, and been witness to, the tragic 
departure of Don Porfirio, in those dim, early hours of 
the 26th. A military train, in charge of some trusted 
general (Huerta), followed, escorting the illustrious 
chief from the earthly heights of destiny, in every sense 
of the word, down the declines of sorrow and old age, 
out to the great sea. 



V 

Dinner at the Japanese Legation — The real history of the Japanese in 
Mexico — Dinner at the Embassy — Coronation services for England's 
king — The rainy season sets in. 

June i6ih. 

LAST night dinner at the Japanese Legation. A very 
■' elaborate and beautiful centerpiece arrangement 
of tiny lake and grove decorated the table, and the food 
was very good. That was the Belgian touch. They are 
used to la bonne chhe. All the dinners now are a sort of 
hail and farewell for Von Hintze and ourselves newly 
arrived, and the departing Romeros, who have been 
here some time and are very popular. 

There is always a lot of talk about the Japanese in 
Mexico, but their real history here, as I have discovered, 
is not disquieting. Some Japanese statesman (of course 
I forget his name) first conceived the idea in 1897 of 
starting coffee-plantations on a large scale in Chiapas. 
The pioneers were called "colonists," and were followed 
by "immigrants." All had bad luck with the enter- 
prise at first, but by economy and industry finally got 
prosperous. 

As for Horigutchi himself, amiable and intelligent 
and, of course, unusually intimate with the French 
language, it is said he knows how the Emperor of 
Korea died, pues quien sahef At any rate, he is peace- 
ful and smiling now, his Belgian wife is dressy and 
hospitable, and he has an interesting little daughter. 
The house is the usual compromise between good 

61 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

Japanese things and expensive European ones, always 
painful to our esthetic sense, and doubtless to theirs as 
well. 

Again I have waked up to this wondrous sun and these 
open windows, and the shining, flower-planted patio. 
Am having a little luncheon here. Von H. Stalewski, 
the Russian minister, Martinez del Campo, third intro- 
ducer of ambassadors (he of the charming English), and 
the Simons and the French charge. A magnificent blue 
Puebla bowl, such as were used in olden days for bap- 
tismal feasts, now very difficult to find, decorates the 
center of the round table, filled with red and purple 
sweet-peas — guisantes de olor they call them ; fifty cents 
for the whole glory. All our cakes, ices, etc., are ordered 
from the Cafe de I'Opera, kept by French. people in the 
Avenida Cinco de Mayo, where the Mexicans drop in 
between five and eight for tea or chocolate or some sort 
of consummation. 

Von H. is finding himself out of his natural orbit here. 
His eyes filled with tears when he said to me at dinner 
at the Italian Legation the other night: "I miss my 
friends." We were having a little exchange of senti- 
ments and illusions. I imagine he is un sensitif, and it is 
a far cry from what we have had and known before. He 
has the world manner, varied official experience, and an 
unexplained personal equation. 

There had been no diplomatic dinners for six months 
here on account of the troubles, and when everybody 
has had one things will settle down again. 

June l8th. 
Your letter saying you were thinking of the Pente- 
costal fires on the Umbrian hills, has come. I forget all 
pains, if pains there were, and am glad of that and all 
other experiences life has given us together. 

62 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

Mrs. Wilson goes to the United States next week for 
several months until her boys are settled in school and 
college. I shall miss her very much. Besides being one 
of the most admirable women I have known in public 
life, she is a pearl of a chefesse. 

I have dwelt much on my easy, pleasant days here, 
surrounded by new beauty and new interests, books, 
companions — on this experience of an unknown land 
with nothing of the "pace that kills," nothing of the 
wearing "concurrence" of the great cities. In fact, I 
am experiencing to the full, in Elliott's phrase, "the 
comforts of the tropics." 

Elim has been enticed into the tiniest and darlingest 
of pajamas on the ground of being ready for the next 
earthquake. For some reason or other he had clung 
passionately to his little nighties. 

June 2ist. 

A delightful dinner at Mrs. Wilson's last night, every- 
thing bearing the special dainty touch of the embajadora. 
The table was a mass of La France roses and violets, and 
the pink-shaded silver candelabra emerged from light 
clouds of pale-pink gauze. Large and deliciously pre- 
pared langoustes, very difficult to get here, formed the 
piece de resistance of the dinner, which was most lavish 
throughout. 

On Mrs. Wilson's right was Rafael Hernandez, first 
cousin of Madero, a very handsome man of about thirty- 
five, with dark eyes and flashing white teeth and brilliant 
coloring. Every now and then you come across some 
one here with what we could call a "complexion," and 
you never forget it. 

I am interested in seeing the members of the coming 
dynasty appear on the political stage. Hernandez, a 
lawyer of repute, is now Minister of Justice. I sat 
between Mr. Lie, the Norwegian minister, who is a son 

63 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

of the author, Jonas Lie, and we talked a bit of Scan- 
dinavian literature. I read only last winter his father's 
great, sad book, Les Filles du Commandant. I had known 
him slightly in Berlin, when he was military attache, 
before what we used to call the "divorce" of Sweden 
and Norway. Hohler was on my other side, and be- 
tween courses we did quite a tidy bit of confidential 
journeying on the political chart. He is ready to crown 
King George and Queen Mary to-morrow at the new 
Legation. 

June 22d. 

This morning we went to the coronation service for 
the King of England and Emperor of India in the Eng- 
lish Church. The thought of the same prayers going 
up everywhere for him on whose dominions the sun 
never sets was solemn and imposing. The Te Deum, 
preceded by the Litany beseeching the Lord to have 
mercy on miserable sinners, alone kept it in the note 
of mortality. The town is flagged, and, though we had 
no king in person, we had the most royal weather. 

Several hundred people were at the reception, all the 
chers collegues, various members of the government, and 
the British colony, of course, with a certain number of 
curios, such as all colonies produce on national occa- 
sions. The Legation is not yet furnished, though the 
chancery is in full blast, and Hohler has his study most 
comfortably arranged with a lot of his own good things. 
He has just found an old Spanish cabinet — a mass of 
ivory, mother-of-pearl, and silver inlay — that makes you 
wish you were a burglar. 

At five o'clock President de la Barra, very smiling 
and spick and span, arrived, accompanied by his staff. 
He was welcomed by the national hymn played with 
much spirit by an excellent orchestra. Others of the 
government were Emilio Vasquez Gomez, Ministerio de 

64 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

la Gobernacion (Interior), and Mr. and Mrs. Pimentel y 
Fagoaga (Mr. P. is a banker and president of the city 
council). Mr. Creel, former ambassador to Washington, 
white-haired, pink-complexioned, un-Mexican-looking, I 
also met. 

Later General Reyes appeared, once, possibly still, the 
idol of the army. You can never know here, for between 
sunrise and sunset the victorious hero can become a 
hunted fugitive. There is something about General 
Reyes, with his upstanding mien, long, white beard, 
shrewd eye and air of experience, which would not have 
fitted badly into the presidential frame. I am told there 
was a psychological moment when fate was ready for 
him, but now it is too late; other forces have crystallized. 

Everybody was making the rounds of the Legation, 
which is going to be most attractive and convenient, 
the only fly in the ointment being the garden. During 
the building large quantities of lime and all sorts of un- 
productive refuse were left about, and Hohler thinks 
he will have to change the whole soil. Up to now 
nothing save the irrepressible but beautiful pink gera- 
nium has been willing to grow. 

I was borne, with the French charge, on a steady tide, 
setting through the long, unfurnished dining-room, to 
a temporary grotto-like inclosure, the walls of which 
were lined with palm-trees and hung with the Union 
Jack, where the refreshments were served. I heard a 
little joke going around with the punch among the some- 
what homesick colony, "Can you hear the crowns 
settling on the brows of King George and Queen Mary?" 
It mingled harmlessly with the congratulations and 
hand-shaking and health-drinking of a very pleasant 
and, one hopes, auspicious occasion. In London the 
sun had long since set on the actors in a new page of 
England's history. 

65 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

June 25th. 

There is no doubt about the rainy season having set 
in. Rain fell yesterday during three hours in drench- 
ing sheets that darkened the city. I could scarcely 
see across the street ; but I had the lights turned on and 
proceeded with Prescott's Conquest, not read since 
years. I am entranced by his vivid, flowing style and 
the wealth of reference and learning. The very initiated 
have said that it is not all true, but if it isn't it ought 
to be, it's so good. . The copy I am reading was pub- 
lished by Galignani in Paris in 1844, and must be a 
first edition, as his preface bears the date, "Boston, 
October ist, 1843." 

In a small section of the bookcase near my divan, 
where I sit or rest or where the tea is brought — where 
I always am, in fact — are the poets. I can reach out and 
refresh myself with almost any of them. There is a 
set in that old-fashioned blue-and-gold binding, such as 
you used to have (1878 is its date), containing Shelley, 
Keats, Byron, Tennyson, Longfellow, Whittier, Mrs. 
Hemans, et al. But they are only a few of the denizens 
of the "poets' comer." Palgrave's Golden Treasury is 
the first book on the first shelf. 

Peter and Paul's Day, June 2gtJi. 
The saints' days follow quickly here. Also I find 
that instead of indifferentism the churches are packed 
with men, women, and children on all occasions. Am 
now waiting for Madame Chermont, the agreeable 
American wife of the Brazilian secretary, and we drive 
to Chapultepec Park with our children and listen to the 
music. A fine military band plays by the largest of the 
natural lakes, and it is the great morning rendezvous of 
Mexico City. The two boys will disport on the grass 
and incidentally have a few "good" fights plastered in 

66 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

between the gentler occupations of catching butterflies 
and picking flowers. 

Evening. 

I made calls all the afternoon, two violent thunder- 
storms enHvening the getting in and out. At Madame 
Lie's an almost terrifying darkness fell, lasting for an 
hour or so. The lights were turned on, but we all con- 
tinued to look like specters, with an unnatural, lusterless 
saffron light filtering in at the windows, showing the 
Indian butler coming and going quietly with the tea 
things, and lighting up delicate sprays of yellow-brown 
orchids from the Hot Country on the table in some 
Scandinavian silver vases. At six o'clock, as I came 
home, the volcanoes appeared like heaps of purest gold 
piled against the blackest of clouds. 

San Pedro y Pablo seems to be celebrated here by the 
giving of toy pisto s, and other noisy weapons, to chil- 
dren. There was more or less "popping" going on all 
the morning. For some reason there is a legend to the 
effect that the devil roams abroad on this day seeking 
whom he may devour. 

I thought of San Paolo Fuori le Muri and the cele- 
brations in the great Basilica, and the Roman world 
on its way out of the Porta San Paolo past the pyramid 
of Caius Cestus and the grave of Keats. 

June 30th. 

Your earthquake letter received. Remember, the 
Paris Herald has to live. 

We see a good deal of the ambassador, and also of 
Bearing, clever and courageous. When the ambassador 
will leave I don't know; but we do know the greatest 
benefit a chief can confer on his first secretary. 

Bearing is trying his hand at translating Mallarme, 
and last night we were turning the ''Frisson d'hiver'* 
6 67 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

round about, but we didn't do to it what he did to "The 
Raven." 

It begins: "Cette pendule de Saxe qui retarde et sonne 
treize heures parmi ses fleurs et ses dieux, a qui a-t-elle 

eur 

We dine at the Austrian charge's to-morrow. Every- 
thing always very soigne. He has an Austrian cook, I 
beHeve, and a pleasant mania for cleanliness. He will 
soon be leaving, as Baron Riedl from Rio Janeiro, his 
cousin, is appointed minister here. You remember him 
and his American wife from Rome. 

I am sending a huge bundle of zarapes, dull blue and 
white, sewed up in canvas — so nice for the garden, and 
for Elliott on his terrace. 



VI 



Speculations as to the wealth of "the Greatest Mexican" — Fourth of 
July — Madero as evangelist — The German minister's first official 
dinner with the Maderos as the clou. 

July 1st. 

THERE are great speculations as to Diaz's wealth, 
and millions are put to his account with a light 
hand.^ Some say he has twenty millions in Spain, in 
Paris, in Wall Street. I am sure I hope he has feathered 
his nest — both he and Limantour. As I remarked be- 
fore, the Romans that made the roads probably did, but 
they made the roads. There is a not-negligible quan- 
tity in Mexico, in abeyance for the moment, which is 
very suspicious and uncertain, not of the honesty of 
Madero (all parties allow that), but of his ability to 
handle the situation, which demands civic talents of a 
high order. 

President de la Barra has a pension plan which will 

^ This was a time-honored calumny told to all new-comers in Mexico, 
and believed by many chiefly because it would have been so easy for 
Don Porfario to enrich himself to any extent he pleased. The facts are 
that his ambitions lay rather in the direction of power for himself and 
peace and progress for his country than in that of the amassing of riches. 
He was a man of the simplest personal habits, though he always main- 
tained a state dignified and befitting his high office. 

During his years of exile he and his beautiful wife lived in the quietest 
manner on an income sufficient only for the ordinary comforts of life. 
The last will and testament of "the Greatest Mexican " further proved 
that he could be called to no such accounting by the Final Judge. 

As for Senor Limantour, he inherited a large fortune from his father, 
principally in real estate, that increased in value during those years of 
prosperity which his long and able administration of the finances of 
Mexico did so much to bring about. 

69 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

doubtless give him much trouble, as it will have to in- 
clude all of Mexico, or those left out will know why. As 
was observed by some one the other day, the more the 
Mexicans try to change Mexico the more it remains 
the same thing. 

Practically new electoral methods are to be tried out, 
and how Madero, unless he has a secret flair for civic 
matters, is to solve them is what we are all waiting to 
see. The people's ears are full of promises. The gov- 
ernment would promise the snow of Popo — anything; 
but there is a ditty being sung about town now that 
gives one food for thought: 

Poco trahajo, Little work, 

Mucho diner 0, Much money, 

Pulque barato. Cheap pulque, 

Viva Maderol Long live Madero! 

It's a bit wabbly for founding a government on, 
but doubtless represents very accurately the dreams of 
the pelados (skinned ones), as the peons are called. 

You speak of the subscriptions for the earthquake 
relief here. It was not a national disaster. National 
disasters take other forms in this latitude. Scarcely a 
ripple is left, and as for the money to repair the city and 
close the splits in the streets, the municipality gives that 
and the contractors jump for joy. 

I do not minimize the dangers here, but, of course, 
I don't draw highly colored pictures, being sure of your 
interest in any statement of facts, however plain they 
may be. I have rarely felt safer anywhere than in 
Mexico City; certainly never more comfortable and 
continually interested. We often walk home after din- 
ners or bridge. The clean-washed air is so refreshing 
after being in rooms, however large, at this altitude. 
The gendarmes stand at every few crossings with their 

70 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

lanterns. The streets are deserted, dry, and clean. 
There is no Nachtlehen. The program is here early to 
bed, early to rise, and the thrice-blessed siesta to renew 
the day. 

I am sending off a delightful book by Flandrau, Viva 
Mexico. It has the real sparkle and "feel" of this mag- 
netic land. How true a word he spoke when he said, 
"One does not go to Latin-America just to see what it 
is like, or because one has seen it before and chosen to 
return, but because circumstances in their wonderfully 
lucid way have combined to send one." 

I have just had a letter from the King of Denmark. 
You know how promptly he always answers, la politesse 
des rois. But the old Copenhagen days with their blues 
and grays and Aryan ways of thought and habits of life 
are immeasurably remote from these, not only geo- 
graphically and in time, but psychologically. 

The other evening at the Arbeu Theater, where Vir- 
ginia Fabregas, an old favorite here, was playing, my 
eye was suddenly arrested by the profiles as I looked 
from the box down a row of seats. They were so diverse, 
so strange, like those one comes across on the ground 
floor in the comer rooms of museums — Mongol, Indian, 
Aryan. There did not seem to be any one type. It was 
just a patchwork loosely sewn together, the bits coming 
out of unknown generations from the desires of the four 

corners of the earth. 

July 3d. 

The rainy season hat son plein. Immense quantities 
of water are thrown down from the heavens between 
three and six every day, after which it has always 
cleared, with the exception of that historic evening 
when the mob was "out" to destroy the creator of its 
present Mexico. How quickly republics, not alone this 
strange Indian republic, put away their great! It is 

71 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

most discouraging to one desirous of finding all good 
things in that form of government. 

I have finished De Solis. Also I have "read" a gram- 
mar, and, of course, there are the servants, instillers 
of that rather patchworky thing called kitchen-Spanish, 
and there are the newspapers. A teacher is coming 
next week. I haven't yet felt like mapping out any 
special plan of study, being in readiness at certain hours, 
but am enjoying the "simple life" thrown against this 
colorful background of a colorful race in revolution. 

Only two dinners this week, at the Brazilian charge's, 
and on Sunday the German minister gives his first dinner. 
He has taken a large furnished house in the Calle Liver- 
pool, very expensive and suitable, as far as space goes, 
for a Legation. It belongs to a wealthy Mexican who 
was seduced, however, by art nouveau. Large hat-racks 
and high jardinieres in the form of giant pansies in 
natural colors furnish the great hall and testify to his 
ruin. 

Von H. endeavored to strike some sort of average by 
hanging some beautiful rugs from the square railing 
of the second story. His good furniture from Europe 
arrived in such a state that he said nothing was needed, 
as case after case was unpacked, but brooms to sweep 
out the debris. 

July 4th, evening. 

Our Fourth-of-July celebration took place at the 
Tivoli Eliseo in the Puente de Alvarado, which is like any 
picnic ground anywhere (unless you look up at the match- 
less sky). There was the usual accompaniment of pink 
lemonade, peanuts (called cacahuates here), and brass 
bands. There was a luncheon with speeches which 
would have stirred my national soul more if I weren't 
still in a half-dream at finding myself in this strange and 
gorgeous land. As I was leaving the festive scene word 

72 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

was passed round that Madero was coming and would 
speak. 

I stood on the outer fringe of the crowd, which I did 
not try to penetrate, and found it most interesting to 
see, even at a distance, the evangelist "evangelizing." 
Madero's face, so familiar in photographs, and which 
seems featureless but for the broad forehead and black, 
pointed beard, becomes illuminated as he speaks, and 
his gestures are continuous, the voice soft, with a smooth 
flow of words. I could not catch what he said, but I 
knew it was his work of hypnotizing Mexico. 

A more material diversion, N. told me, was created 
later by a cock-fight, forbidden by the police, but secretly 
adored, which took place in a little inclosure. There 
is no doubt about that animal being in every sense the 
cock of the Mexican walk. He is the only beast really 
cherished by them. He even shares the precious hat, 
and his idiosyncrasies and caprices are tenderly studied. 
When he fights little knives are tied onto his legs, 
which is why the sport, though brilliant, is short as 
far as the cock is concerned. 

I keep wondering how Madero can "divide up the 
great estates" and deliver them to that unknown, and 
here even unlabeled, quantity, * ' the people. " According 
to the Plan de San Luis Potosi, it would seem as if 
Mexico were a cake one had simply to cut into and 
then pass around the slices. 

There is an underlying excitement in the European 
contingent of the Diplomatic Corps. The sending of the 
Panther to Morocco looks like one of those Franco- 
German incidents that we were familiar with when in 
Berlin, and may lead to real difficulties. 

July 8th. 

To-day what started out to be a little golfing lunch, 
gathered together by N. in the sunny morning hours 

73 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

when it seems it will never rain again, turned into a 
sort of disputa about many things, within foiu- walls. 
A tremendous hailstorm came up and darkened and 
nipped the town, so the "foursome" sat long talking, 
the water pouring from the roof. Leclerq, Koch, and 
Nacho Amor are all cultivated, agreeable young men. 
Amor was educated at Stony hurst, and has the soft, 
pleasant voice and delightful English of Mexicans who 
have passed young years in England. 

As I write, near and very brilliant stars, under which 
I was not bom, are shining into the patio, and in a 
moment I must go and walk about the inner veranda 
and look up into that dazzling bit of heaven in the 
square frame of the house. If it were only not so far and 
unsharable with my beloved ones! 

July loth. 

Last night the German minister gave his first big 
dinner, at which the Maderos, making their debut in 
official international life, were the clou. We arrived as 
it was striking eight, but the Belgian minister, whom 
we met going in, said they had already arrived. 

I found the large room rather full, with a hitherto 
unsampled Mexican contingent. Von H. was standing 
by the door, near the Maderos, and we were presented 
almost immediately. Madero, seen at close range, is 
small, dark, with nose somewhat flattened, expressive, 
rather prominent eyes in shallow sockets, and forehead 
of the impractical shape. But all is redeemed by ex- 
pression playing Hke lightning over the sallow, feature- 
less face and his pleasant, ready smile. 

He speaks French and some English, preferring the 
former, but lapses continually into Spanish, his ideas 
coming too fast for a foreign medium, and he uses many 
gestures. There is something about him of youth, of 
hopefulness and personal goodness; but I couldn't help 

74 





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vox HINTZE, GERMAN MINISTER TO MEXICO 
(iQll to 1914) 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

wondering, as I looked at him during the dinner, if he 
were going to begin the national feast by slicing up 
the family cake. 

Madame Madero might be a dark type of New Eng- 
land woman with a hint of banked fires in her eyes. 
There is a sort of determination in the cut of her face, 
which is rather worn, with an expression of dignity. 
She, too, is small and thin, and was dressed in an ordi- 
nary high-necked black-and-white gown, a narrow "pin 
stripe," with the most modest of gold brooches hold- 
ing the plain, high collar. She gives an impression of 
valiance without any hint of worldliness, or desire for 
any kind of flesh-pot. I pictured her at Chapultepec, 
and somehow could not fit her in as chatelaine of that 
high-standing palace. 

Of course all the other guests were in their best "bib 
and tucker." I wore that "Spitzer" white satin with 
the floating scarlet and black tulle draperies. It seems 
very magnificent here; but in Paris, at Madame Porges's 
great dinner, and at the Russian Embassy, the train did 
not seem quite so long and slinky, nor the drapery so 
tight around the ankles, as the dresses of the wonderful 
Frenchwomen. 

As we went into the dining-room I saw, a mile off, 
the unmistakable name O'S. by Madero's, and naturally 
thought it was for me. I sat down, then had to take my 
appointed place quite a good deal higher up by the Min- 
ister of Foreign Affairs. So disappointed. It was N., 
however, who was to help him fill the "subiu-bs" of the 
table. Countess Massiglia presided; on her right was 
the Minister of Foreign Affairs; then I came; then an 
elaborately uniformed but, as far as I was concerned, 
anonymous military gentleman whose card was imder 
his napkin — which he did not use. 

The Maderos are reputed enormously wealthy; their 

75 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

wealth is mostly invested in lands, however. I under- 
stand Madero spent all the available family cash on the 
revolution, though he told N. last night that no revolu- 
tion had ever been carried through so cheaply from the 
standpoint both of men and of money. 

Von H. does things very well. The courses were ac- 
companied by wines of special, rare vintages, and his 
dinner was lavishly and handsomely presented. He has 
the same majordomo that the Towers had in Berlin — 
that huge, blond man (I forget his name). I asked him 
how he liked Mexico; he permitted himself the hint of 
a sigh, and said it was not Berlin, adding, ''Aber es 
gieht nichts zu machen.'" 

Madame Madero was placed between the Italian 
minister and the Austrian charge, our host having the 
wife of the Norwegian minister on his right and Madame 
Romero on his left. N. said Madero was very miH- 
taristic, considering he was come to bring peace, and 
somewhat suspicious of the United States. 

On the other side of Madero was that anomaly, a 
Mexican vieille fille, whose name I did not get. I sup- 
posed she belonged to one of the two or three elderly 
military men present. N. suggested to Madero his fall- 
ing in with the views of the United States in the regulat- 
ing of claims, and he said the following in French, "You 
Americans always act on the presumption that we Mexi- 
cans are always in the wrong." N. said this was a propos 
of his remark, "Now, Mr. Madero, you are going to be 
President, and I know when yout government gets in 
you will clear up all matters pending between the two 
countries, and let us begin with a clean slate." 

There had been some discussion among us all as 
to how Madero should be seated at table. He was the 
undoubted next President, the leader of the Ejercito 
Liberatado, but actually at the moment he was without 

76 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

official status of any kind, and could not be placed above 
plenipotentiaries with their definite ranking. 

Von H. cut the Gordian knot, rather informally, by 
putting him next N. "so that they could have a talk," 
which they did! 

Handsome young De Weede turned up yesterday, 
having made the ascent of Orizaba, a great feat. He 
came down in a dreadfully burned condition, however, 
and spent some days in bed attended by a physician. 
He is the son of our friend, the Dutch minister in 
Vienna. 

He returns there as first secretary with his father, 
regretting Washington very much. 

He had seen the Hitts in Guatemala, and showed me 
photographs he had taken of their house with its lovely 
patio, fountained and flower-planted. The roughly 
paved street gave the outside a desolate look which it 
doubtless has not really got under that sky, as blue as 
this. It was so nice to see De W. again, and the "wel- 
kin rang" with reminiscences of the Kaiser stadt and the 
happenings of our mutual friends. 

July I2th. 

Von H. has been criticized for having had Madero 
at a formal dinner, where he could not have the first 
place at table, being the Liberatador and more than all 
the others put together. However, I imagine it is those 
who were not at it who felt critical. I inclose the menu. 
Apart from the huachinango, the wonderful Mexican 
redsnapper, the fish that Indian runners used to bring 
up on their backs from Vera Cruz for Montezuma's 
delectation, it might have been a handsomely presented 
dinner anywhere in the world. 

This morning I took De W. to the museum to look over 
the treasures, pre- and post-Cortesiana. The building 
forms part of the Palacio Nacional, some of which dates 

77 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

back to the great captain, and it was the celebrated 
Casa del Estado during the viceregal period. The old 
colonnaded patio is a beautiful receptacle for a flooding 
sun, as well as the altars and car\'ings of a bygone 
civilization. In the middle are the Sacrificial Stone, and 
the great Calendar Stone, which has contributed more 
than anything else to give the Aztecs their reputation 
for scientific achievements. They adjusted their festi- 
vals by the movements of the heavenly bodies, fixed 
the true length of the tropical year, etc. 

For some generations after the discovery of the 
Calendar Stone in the subsoil of the Plaza it was ce- 
mented onto one of the towers of the cathedral, and 
only in the eighties was removed to the museum. The 
Piedra de Sacrificios is appalling when one thinks of its 
origin and use; but with an extremely handsome young 
man leaning against it, under that warm sun, in that 
mellow old courtyard, it was not, for the moment, so 
dreadful to contemplate. Its true home was the top 
of the great temple, and there Cortes found it. 

During the siege of the city the conquerors, watching 
from afar, are said to have sometimes seen their own 
captured comrades led up the great stairway to the 
stone on which they were placed, their chests opened 
with a special razor-like knife made of obsidian, the 
palpitating heart torn out, held for an instant toward 
the sun, this sun, and then flung at the feet of the god 
of war. Huitzilopochtli, the aforesaid god, is a huge 
block of basalt, half man, half woman, who was "bom" 
just as one sees him now, with the addition of a spear 
in the right hand, a shield in the left, and on his head 
a crest of green plumes, going Minerva one better. 
Thousands were sacrificed to him yearly under this 
wondrous sky, enfolded by this softly penetrating, vivify- 
ing sun. 

78 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

Afterward we went up and saw the "Maximiliana" 
for "Auld Lang Syne," not much nor very interestmg — 
a huge amount of cristofle silverware and the saddle used 
by the unfortunate emperor when he was captured at 
Queretaro (May 15, 1867). The pictures of Maximilian, 
one on a dashing white charger, show him a fuU-Hpped, 
blond-bean led, i)]uc-eyed Austrian obviously unable to 
cope with the Mexican political situation. Carlota, in 
pale blue and pearls, hangs by him. These portraits 
are by Graefle, the Viennese court painter of the per- 
iod. Napoleon the Third, the cause of all their troubles, 
hangs near with Eugenie — a. copy of the Winterhalter 
portrait of her, I think. 

We took a look at the relics of Juarez, the "man in 
the black coat," as the only Mexican ruler that didn't 
wear uniform is called. The plainest of civilian garb 
of the late sixties was in the vitrinc, and near by was the 
bed in- which he actually managed to die. This last, as 
far as I can see, is unique among Mexican relics, Mexican 
public men not having the habit of dying in bed. 

Bearing has gone away, on three months' leave, and 
N. is at his desk. 

I must stop and take my baby on my lap. He has 
been standing by my side, saying, "Dy will be done." 
I{e is being taught various prayers, and repeats them 
on all occasions. He is waiting with a bit of blotting- 
paper to blot my letter, which I am sure he will do, and 
wants to know if you got the last thousand kisses. 

Evening. 
These past two days I have lunched at Coyoacan. 
Yesterday at the house of some American friends of the 
ambassador's — the Becks — who are charmingly situated 
in a huge old house surrounded by a great, tall-treed 
garden, and filled with lovely old things. Mr. Potter, 

79 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

who is down here to watch over large interests of his 
own and other people's, is most witty and entertaining, 
and with his friend, Mr. Butler, went with us. The 
day before Mrs. Laughton, who had met De Weede, 
asked us all for lunch at the Casa de Alvarado. I was 
glad to show him some more "local color," and that 
beautiful old house is simply oozing with it. 

After lunch we went into the garden for our coffee, 
while Elim played with Mrs. Laughton 's two little chil- 
dren; but, even with young voices sounding, a soft 
sun shining upon lovely flowers, and sipping coffee under 
the pleasant shade of the rose-grown arbor, the garden 
is eery and melancholy-inducing. 

On our way back we stopped at the Zocalo, and went 
to the Academia San Carlos, the national picture-gallery, 
Academia de las Nobles Artes de Mexico, as it was called 
under the viceroys. It has a huge collection of plaster 
casts which cost the king several hundred thousand 
pesos. Do you see the "Laocoon," the "Apollo Belve- 
dere," the "Young Hercules," etc., being brought up on 
Indian backs from Vera Cruz ? The patio and corridors 
were full of scaffolding and plaster scrapings as we 
passed in. 

Humboldt speaks of seeing great halls lighted with 
Argand lamps, evidently then the dernier cri of illumi- 
nation, and the Indian, the Mestizo, and the son of the 
"grand seigneur" side by side, drawing and modeling 
from the antique molds. Tolsa, the celebrated artist 
of the "Iron Horse," taught here. 

We took a glance only at some of the boresome, well- 
painted academic modern canvases, which made us 
feel like dashing into the street to get some real pictures. 
The rooms where the early Mexican painters, the Echave 
brothers, Cabrera, etc., hang were closed for repairs or 
cleaning. Indeed, the whole place was at sixes and 

80 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

sevens, each object plastered with from two to five 
numbers. As we had "met" most of the casts in 
European museums, it didn't matter. We walked up the 
gay Avenida San Francisco and stopped in at "El 
Globo," a cafe much frequented from this hour on. 
On coming out De W. took photographs of the 
Jockey Club, its blue and yellow tiles particularly 
brilliant against some threatening rain-clouds, and some 
others of the charming entrance to the old Church of 
San Francisco opposite; he said they could be hung 
as "Sacred and Profane Love." We got back to Calle 
Humboldt as the heavens opened and deluged the town. 
General Crozier, just arrived from Washington, came 
in the darkest and wettest hour. Such an unexpected 
pleasure! There are not many Americans to visit 
Mexico this summer. All the people who used to come 
in their private cars and bring a note of home and 
gaiety are conspicuous by their absence. There is no 
way of heating the houses, and sometimes during the 
rainy hours there is a cold dampness which is very pene- 
trating. Stirring the embers of old acquaintance and 
talking of "home" happenings was a very pleasant way 
of alleviating the temperature this afternoon. 

July 17th. 

Don't fear that I shall do anything rash about going to 
Tehuantepec in the present state of things. I have even 
given up the trip to Puebla. They are fighting and 
killing there again, and in Calle Humboldt they are not. 

Notwithstanding the press, which has its liberties 
and the smiles of the government, things are not really 
very stable. Aunt L. writes that San Geronimo has 
been filled to overflowing with refugees from Juchitan, 
the county-seat, twelve miles away. The feeling there 
between the Maderistas and Porfiristas is very bitter, 
and has just culminated in an uprising of the Indians 

81 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

against the new Federal authorities, who had to fiy for 
their Hves from a howling mob of two thousand Indians 
armed with rifles, clubs, and machetes. The Federal 
General Merodia made no resistance, but came with 
the civil authorities of the government to San Geronimo, 
giving the mob no excuse for sacking and robbing 
Juchitan. Every house in San G. is full, and furniture 
piled in the street. It seems to me no one but the 
Mexicans will be surprised that the overthrow of Diaz 
has not brought about the millennium. 

De Weede,^ who departs this evening for Vienna via 
the Grand Caiion and the Yellowstone Park, has just 
been squeezed into N.'s frock-coat and top-hat (not 
carrying such impedimenta himself) to call on the 
President. The Dutch minister lives in Washington. 

General Crozier comes for dinner on Wednesday. We 
have just lunched at Stalewski's (the Russian minister's), 
and he served the delicious hlinis with caviar that all 
expect when lunching there. He often takes remote 
journeys into the interior, coming back with a silver 
ingot and curious bits of carving. The diplomatic 
species always dream dreams, and his is to tread again 
the streets of Berne. In the evening Captain Sturte- 
vant, our military attache, gives a dinner at the Ameri- 
can Club for General Crozier. 

Later. 

I have spent a last delightful evening with Prescott, 
and Humboldt is waiting in five attractive, clearly 
printed old volumes, Paris, 1811, that Mr. de S. brought 
me yesterday. Now, just a century after, I am to turn 
the pages. I have also some volumes of Alaman, who 
brings things down to 1846. 

I forgot to speak about my Spanish teacher, with 

* In the autumn of 191 1 Maurice de Weede was accidentally killed at 
a shooting-party in Austria. 

82 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

whom I have been studying as well as "Castellano." 
Her mind is about as mobile and receptive as a tin 
saucepan upside down, and she is always late. Some- 
times her watch stops, sometimes the tramcar won't 
stop, sometimes she forgets her purse or her keys, and 
has to go back, etc. 

She is still young, heavily powdered, insistently per- 
fumed, big-busted, tightly laced, tightly skirted, and 
keeps a very short foot in a tight, high-heeled slipper in 
front of her. She hates the sun, as I discovered when I 
tried to have the first lessons in the sunny corridor. 

This morning she told me in a lackadaisical, dreamy 
way that the noise of the typewriter (she has some sort 
of afternoon office work, for which she is doubtless totally 
unfitted) was not good for her; that she had been think- 
ing over things, and had concluded that, if I would ar- 
range it, introducer of foreign ladies to the President's 
wife was what she was fitted for. She said I probably did 
not realize what temptations the despacho office offered. 

I dare say she has met a few devils in her day. She 
wound up by saying that the society of ladies would be 
less of a strain. It was all done quietly; she has evi- 
dently dreamed dreams. She did not streak her face 
when she wept, dabbing her large black eyes carefully 
with a coarse lace handkerchief drenched with cheap 
scent. I explained as gently as I could that the position 
she was thinking of was filled by the chef du protocole. 
Though, without doubt, her life is completely common- 
place, she gave me the feeling of really not understand- 
ing anything at all about her, and that is one of the 
charms of Mexico. An illusion of elusiveness is con- 
tinually presented that keeps one on the chase for the 
pleasure of the chase. You never get anything or any- 
where, but your interest is kept up — which, after all, is 
the great thing. 

7 83 



VII 

The old monastery of Tepozotlan — Lively times on the Isthmus — 
The Covadonga murders — The Chapultepec reception — Sidelights on 
Mexican housekeeping — Monte de Piedad 

July 2ist. 

YESTERDAY General Crozier, Mr. de Soto, and 
myself motored out to the old church and monas- 
tery of Tepozotlan. The morning was indescribably 
white, with a dash of diamond-powder on its lovely 
face, and from the very door every turn of the wheel 
took us over historic ground. 

We turned down the celebrated Puente de Alvarado, 
where the dashing captain for whom it is named is sup- 
posed to have made his great leap on July ist, the date 
of the retreat of the Noche Triste, when the Spaniards 
were fighting their way out of this same road, the 
Tacuba causeway, to the hill where the Church of the 
Virgin of the Remedies stands. We passed the famous 
Noche Triste tree, which those who live here view with 
composure and indifference, but which still excites the 
new-comer. And what's the use of an imagination if 
one can't be stirred by the picture of Cortes sitting under 
the great cypress and weeping as he took note of gap 
after gap in the ranks of the companions of his great 
adventure? 

There is an old romantic verse that I picked out the 
other day, instead of preparing verbs, picturing Cortes 
sitting under the great tree, one hand against his cheek, 
the other at his side: 

84 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

En Tacuba esld Cortes 
Con su escuadron esforzado. 
Triste estaba y tmiy penoso, 
Triste y con grande cuidado, 
Una mano en la mejilla 
Y la otra en el costado, etc. 

In Tacuba was Cortes 
With his most vaUant squadron. 
Very sad and much distressed, 
Very sad and greatly anxious, 
One hand against his cheek 
The other at his side. 

As we got out of the city a white sun, the glory of 
these windless mornings of the rainy season, was shin- 
ing on what seemed a world of crystal objects set in 
blue and green and lilac. I was so proud of my Mexico 
that the general said I acted as if I had "taken over" 
the country. The little grayish, yellowish adobe huts 
reminded him of Chinese vistas in color and outline; 
but to me it was Mexico only, unique, endlessly beautiful. 

The road was once the great highway to the north; 
but the deep ruts, almost morasses, made us suspect 
that many a jefe politico has sent his wife to Paris or 
gone there himself instead of repairing it. All along 
were milestones bearing half-obliterated inscriptions 
and arms of forgotten viceroys, who used to keep the 
road up for the crown or themselves — rather a contrast 
to the deep ruts of the now neglected highway. Since 
the railway was built even Cuautitlan, the once famous 
primer a posta from Mexico City to the north, has 
been abandoned, and our motor was the only vehicle 
in the broad, deserted streets, which, however, filled 
with Indians, as if by magic, at the sound of our horn. 

For nearly an hour we could see the delicate belfry 
of Tepozotlan flattened against a gray-green background 

85 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

of hill, while the sun was touching everything near us 
with a sort of white incandescence, the maguey-fields 
seeming like rows of stacked silver spears. One thing 
about the Mexican vistas — they do not lose their charm 
as you approach; and as we got into the square of the 
little village we found a beautiful old church, inclosed 
with its patio by a luscious pink, low-scalloped wall. 
These patios are a feature of every old Spanish church. 
The friars used them as school-rooms, as courts of judg- 
ment, as medical dispensaries. Indeed, all that had 
to do with the temporal and spiritual needs of the 
Indians was transacted in them. 

The Tepozotlan patio is grass-grown, shaded with 
pepper and palm trees, paved with sunken grave-slabs, 
bits of cactus growing about them, and there is a lovely 
cypress alley leading to the door of the small parroquia. 
From this we passed into the great church, built with 
the adjoining seminary by the Jesuits toward the end 
of the sixteenth century, and restored nearly a hundred 
years ago, in Iturbide's time. As reminder of his brief 
imperial career we found the Mexican eagle painted in 
profile on the old wooden benches. 

The church is a triumph of the Churrigueresque school 
(I have learned to spell this word, but never, never, 
will it casually trip from my tongue). The vault is 
simply a madness of gilt carving, and there is a beauti- 
ful high altar and many side altars of the richest and 
most varied designs, all the gold having a lovely reddish 
patine. "We investigated the organ loft, but found only 
a broken organ with yellowing ivory stops and keys, 
and a few dusty missals with all the engravings and 
title-pages gone. 

The general is not ecclesiastically inclined, and the 
visit to the old monastery, so bare, so stripped of all 
belongings, was most cursory. We soon betook ourselves 

86 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

to the cypress alley and the warm sun outside, lunching 
in the auto in the village square, with children and old 
women clustering about and waiting for the crumbs from 
the banquet. The latter was somewhat marred for us 
by the discovery that the mineral-water opener had 
been forgotten. The motor was drawn up near a little 
pink-and-blue pulque-shop called El Recreo del Antigiw 
Gato,^ but it contained no help for us; neither did a 
search at a still smaller one rejoicing in the name of 
El Templo de Venus, ^ on the other side of the Plaza, prove 
successful. However, the general pointed out hope- 
fully that it would soon begin to rain. 

On the way back we did get caught in one of the usual 
infant cloudbursts, which left the difficult roads of the 
morning almost impassable, and several times we had 
to get squads of Indians, who rose up apparently from 
the solid earth, to help pull the car out of various huge 
morasses.' I thought at one time we could not get back 
for the dinner I was giving for General C. ; but having 
the guest of honor with me, I felt fairly philosophic. 

The ditches in some places were thickly carpeted with 
a long-stemmed, yellow, lily-like flower, and though 
warned that nobody would pick me out if I slipped into 
the black water underneath, I gathered great, heavy 
scented bunches, while the gentlemen and the Indians 
wrestled with the conveyance. Mr. de S. said the un- 
failing remark on the part of the Indians was, 'Wo quiere 
andar" (' ' It does not wish to go ") — a favorite and some- 
times final phrase here about machinery that is out of 
order. 

Later. 

There have been lively times on the Isthmus. The 
former Federals against Maderistas. Aunt L.'s big 
house has been taken by the government for a hospital. 

1 Recreation-ground of the Ancient Cat. - The temple of Venus. 

87 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

A cruel uncertainty about affairs Mexican presses heavily 
everywhere. 

The dinner for General C, after the long day at 
Tepozotlan, went off very pleasantly. He says he is 
here only en touriste, but he has the recording eye. The 
German minister returned from investigating the horrid 
Covadonga murders just in time to get into his evening 
things. Bearing, De Soto, Sturtevant, Mr. and Mrs. 
McLaren, et at., made up the dinner guests. The 
McL.'s are strong supporters of the Madero movement, 
and hope more than it seems reasonable to hope from 
such a movement in such a country. 

Von H. is up to his eyes in the complications of the 
Covadonga murders where four Germans, one of them 
the wife of a manufacturer, were literally hacked to death 
in their factory. They were caught in a large room with 
one frightened Spaniard, the others having fought and 
shot their way out. Sixty-eight in all were killed and 
some two hundred wounded, nearly all Spaniards. 
Whether this is to be laid at the doors of the "Liberating 
Army" or is simply a little independent fling of a bandit 
chief called Zapata is not yet known. 

Von H. has sent out a circular to his nationals, urging 
caution. He intends to bring the guilty ones to justice 
himself if the government does not; there was a light 
in his eye as he announced it, and a click of the teeth. 

Emilio Madero, brother of Madero, is chief of the 
also troubled zone of Torreon. Circulars are being dis- 
tributed by his orders begging the people to respect 
foreign lives and property, and explaining the necessity 
of the continuance of foreign capital, intelligence, and 
method in the country. They also state that any one 
voicing sentiments hostile to Spaniards, or other for- 
eigners, Americans included, will find no place in the 
Ejercito Libertador (Liberating Army) . 




Photograph by Ravell 



lEXICAN WOMEN WATER-CARRIERS 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

The servants seem such nice human beings. All their 
defects are small, and they are so honest. I feel myself 
more and more fortunate to have got this nice, practical 
arrangement with the je ne sais quoi of culture and 
breeding added. 

The whole machinery runs comfortably, economically, 
and agreeably. I never scorn the pesos, or even the 
centavitos they return to me from the kitchen when we 
have been out, or things were less expensive than they 
expected in the market. Is it not all of a touching 
honesty ? 

Some grim fatality attended my first waving back of 
the centavitos with a grand air. Either the bells were 
not answered, the food was not carefully prepared, the 
dinner was late, or some such thing. Nov/ I accept the 
centavitos and life takes its normally smooth course. I 
had been warned not to refuse these offerings of simple 
hearts; and these same fatalities were foretold me by 
others more experienced in Mexican domestic psychology 
than I. 

July 27th. 

Home from another reception at Chapultepec. I 
always enjoy them, the setting is so perfect and the 
elements so diverse. The iron circle is not as tight as 
formerly, and this afternoon a sunset so gorgeous was 
going on that it made us all ashamed to sit between four 
mere brocade-covered walls, so there was much walking 
about the terraces. 

There is a single great pine growing near the castle, 
where you look over the terrace toward the volcanoes, 
like the umbrella pines of the Borghese Gardens. It 
was black to-day with scallopings of bronze against the 
sky, and as I stood there, looking at the beauty of it all, 
talking with one of the President's handsome brothers 
(the one that is shortly going on a financial mission to 

89 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

London), I realized, suddenly, the obvious and persistent 
compensations of life. 

Afterward we went down the little winding stairway 
leading from la vitrina, the glass-inclosed balcony 
looking over the side toward the city, to the large east 
terrace, where an elaborate and abundant tea was 
served at small tables. Hohler took me down. I felt 
quite mellowed by all the beauty, and he, in spite of a 
certain matter-of-factness, is always appreciative. There 
is generally among the Corps Diplomatique a note of 
nil admirari. Mostly they have seen a lot, and it's in the 
note not to show surprise; but no one could look with- 
out a stirring of the sotil on the marvelous vistas from 
the terraces. 

Hohler was about to set out on one of his periodical 
journeys when he uses "wheeled things," as Belloc 
expresses it,i as Httle as possible, and he showed me a 
tiny edition of Ovid, ars amatoria, that he was taking 
with him. 

A long letter came from General Crozier this morning, 
from Puebla. He had found Madero at Tehuacan, and 
had had an interesting hour with him. The day before 
he had had an interview with the Minister of War, who 
sent an officer with him to visit various mihtary establish- 
ments, the college at Chapultepec, the cartridge-factory 
at Molino del Rey, the powder-factory at Santa Fe, etc. 

What he thought of it all I know not; he is one of the 

discreetest of mortals. He says he is taking a regretful 

departure from Mexico, where he found so much of 

interest and friendly courtesy. Certainly good wishes 

and regrets follow him. 

Jidy 28th, afternoon. 

The Agadir incident bids fair to become more than an 
incident. Asquith has just said that England, to the 

1 The Road to Rome, Hilaire Belloc. 
90 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

last man, the last ship, the last shilling, will stand by 
France. We won't talk of the little panthers to-night at 
dinner. 

As I was walking home from the Embassy this morn- 
ing I found myself wedged in by some motors, near the 
trolley line, and had to wait, while a black funeral car, 
familiar but unhygienic, passed under my nose. 

The plain cofhns, with or without palls (this had 
none), are placed in an open, sideless tramcar, sometimes 
with flowers, sometimes without. They have to pass 
the broad Avenida de los Insurgentes to get out to the 
Panteon de Dolores, the big, modern cemetery behind 
Chapultepec hill. There are agitations, from time to 
time, to prevent the carrying of these obviously not 
hermetically sealed coffins through the city, scattering 
germs and odors of mortality. Foreigners generally 
turn their heads and try not to breathe; but the Mex- 
icans take off their hats and make the sign of the cross. 

July 2gth. 

I have spent several afternoons with Humboldt, quite 
intimately and cozily, to the sound of heavy water 
falUng from the roof, and the room so darkened by the 
deluge that I have had my lights turned on. He says 
that Pefion I wrote of will, one day, destroy Mexico 
City. Will it be Anno Domini 191 1? I envy him his 
beautiful gift of acciu-ate seeing. None of the marvels 
of Nature, none of her vagaries, showed themselves to 
him in vain; and he is astonishingly up to date. 

I have begun to prowl about for "antiques." No one 
escapes the fever, and in its delirium I wandered this 
morning to the Monte de Piedad,^ which is housed in an 
ancient building facing the cathedral. An old tablet 
over the door records that it was founded in 1775 by 

1 National Pawn-shop. 
91 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

Terreros, Conde de Regla, one of the most romantic 
figures of the eighteenth century, as, by a lucky chance, 
he became the owner of the Real del Monte mines at 
Pachuca. 

Among the people he was the subject of as many fables 
as Croesus. When his children were baptized the pro- 
cession walked upon bars of silver, and when he was 
made Conde de Regla he invited the King of Spain to 
visit his mine, assuring him that if he did so his feet 
should never touch the earth. 

The Monte de Piedad was founded for the purpose of 
keeping the poor out of the clutches of the usurers. 
Going in on the ground floor, directly from the street, 
I found myself in a crowd of elbowing people of all 
classes, leaning over glass-inclosed show-cases, where 
jewels and silver and small objects of value are exposed. 
In the large space immediately back are samples of 
everything used by man except things that need to be 
fed. 

After having fingered the greatest number of objects 
that, in my right mind, I would have no possible use for, 
I concentrated my energies on a pearl pin, the pearl 
really visible to the naked eye, and bought it for thirty 
dollars ; but I expended more than thirty dollars' worth 
of time and energy, even as those things go here. It's a 
scarf-pin and, somehow, in its old, brilliant setting, it 
seemed to try to tell a tale. Perhaps it had held some 
viceroy's lace? I will send it to you for St. Augustine's 
Day. 



VIII 

Elim's fourth birthday party— HaggHng over the prices of old Mexican 
frames— Zapata looms up— First glimpse of General Huerta— Ro- 
mantic mining history of Mexico. 

August 3d. 

AGAIN it is the blessed anniversary. It seems but a 
/v moment of time since my arms received my son. 
He asked me, the first thing this morning, at what time 
he would be four years old. When I told him it had 
already happened he set up a dreadful howl. It appears 
he had expected to feel himself becoming four, as he 
informed me when he got his breath. I only send this 
line to you on this, his fourth mark on the shores of 
life. Now I must be up and doing. The sun is flooding 

the patio. 

Later. 

His birthday party was sweet, but I was deathly 
homesick for you, when kind and friendly strangers 
came, bringing their gifts and good wishes. He had his 
cake, and the four candles for the years he had blessed 
my Hfe. The two Httle Japanese, Madame Chermont's 
little boy, the two handsome children of the Casa 
Alvarado, the little Simon boy (too sweet, with his dark 
curls and big eyes), Bearing, Arnold, and Palmer, from 
the Embassy, came. 

Von Hintze, who loves little children, dropped in late 
with a book of fairy tales. Mrs. Laughton brought 
iEsop's Fables, not many pictures in it, and as EHm 
opened it at a printed page he said, with shining eyes, 

93 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

''Endlich habe ich ein Lesebuch.'' He has spent a good 
deal of time, since, holding it upside down and asking 
not to be disturbed while reading. He and Jom Cher- 
mont had a clash of arms, and Bobo, the two-year-old 
little Jap, ran the whole show with singular competence. 

An invading nostalgia possessed me all the afternoon, 
and I kept thinking of the beautiful word the Portuguese 
charge, De Lima, taught me a few days ago at dinner — 
"saudades," meaning memory of dear and early scenes, 
or of loved ones, or of all these things together. I pre- 
sented my son with two tortoises and a little green bird, 
a clarine, which can be kept on the oleander terrace, 
though he had asked for a monkey and a crocodile. 

I see that Abbey is dead. The wonder of those reds of 
the "Parsifal" frieze in the Boston Library has followed 
me for years. Tout a une fin, but when an artist dies 
there is a double end. I have just come across most 
beautiful photographs of Mexico — gum-prints and callo- 
types, after some special process by an artist named 
Ravell, who has a remarkable eye for this beauty and 
evidently a soul to receive it. 

August 8th. 

To-day was my usual Tuesday at home. Elim, in 
spotless white, played quietly under the tea-table most 
of the time with his little legs sticking out. Torrents of 
rain, and only a few callers, among them the German 
Consul-General, Rieloff, very musical, asking us for 
dinner, and Mrs. Cummings, handsome, competent, and 
warm-hearted, the wife of the head of the cable com- 
pany, and a friend of Aunt Laura's since many years. 

Lately I have bought several beautiful old Mexican 
or Spanish frames. Sometimes they are inlaid with 
mother-of-pearl, sometimes with ivory or bone. Some- 
times they are old, sometimes only so cunningly arranged 
to deceive the eye and fancy that they give the same 

94 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

pleasure. To-day a short, stubby, insistent Mestizo, from 
the Calle Amargura, brought me a beautiful one, and I 
spent a most exciting hour haggling over the price. The 
four evangelists are carved in mother-of-pearl at the 
four corners, with a charming, simple device of diamond- 
shaped pieces in between. A beautiful Ravell photo- 
graph of the stone sails of Guadalupe just fitted into it, 
and it will hang above the bookcase by my sofa. The 
room has many friends whom I have put in Mexican 
frames; Elim and Sofka, Iswolsky, the Towers, Mr. 
Taft, Mr. Roosevelt. A sweet one of Gladys S., with 
her first-born in her arms, has a soft, yellow wood frame, 
with an old, irregular tracing in black and ivory. 

I can't call Mexico a melting-pot exactly, as things 
don't melt here. But it is a strange place, with strange 
people and peculiar situations. Society here, blown 
together by the four winds of the earth, is a mixed affair, 
and various people have disappeared from the rolls 
since our arrival. Some come to seek, some, it would 
appear, because they are being sought, others still whose 
life demands a change of setting. 

It now appears that a certain agreeable foreign couple, 
received by everybody, had never been joined in holy 
matrimony. It came out between the invitation and 

the dinner at the Legation. It was not official 

enough for the minister to intimate to them that the 
dinner was off, but definite enough to make him most 
uncomfortable. Everybody behaved very well, how- 
ever, and as he sat at the table, his eye glancing rather 
anxiously about the possible field of battle, I felt quite 
sorry for him; but I realized that though anybody has 
a right to the highways, in the narrow compass of the 
drawing-room all must, alack! be alike. 

Peretti de la Rocca, the clever conseiller of the French 
Embassy in Washington, took me out to dinner. It is 

95 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

he who married, when en paste here, the handsome only- 
daughter of the Suinag^s', Hving in our street. It was 
very pleasant talking Washingtoniana, Mexicana, and 
politics. 

Yesterday, Sunday, I spent the day at the Del Rios' 
at Tlalpan, on the first slopes of the Ajusco Mountains. 
Von. H., who confesses openly to homesickness, took me 
out with Elim, and we dropped N. for the usual Sunday 
golf at the Country Club as we passed by. 

The Del Rios have a big, comfortable, modernized 
house, vvith a huge, unmodernized garden; and it is a 
favorite Sunday haunt of certain of the diplomats. In 
the tiny inner court there is still a gem of an old "rosace ' '- 
shaped fountain, with calla-lilies growing about it. Small 
bitter-orange trees, thickly hung with green and yellow 
fruit, adorn the comers, and masses of geranium-like 
vines mingle with the ivy which covers the house walls, 
pierced here and there with old grilled, arched windows. 

On the plateau, familiar vines and fruit-trees grow 
willingly among so many things that don't flourish 
together in Europe. Tlalpan was once beloved of the 
viceroys; I think Revillagigedo first made it fashion- 
able, though it was settled immediately after the Con- 
quest, when the picturesque old church was erected. 

Madame Calderon de la Barca, in whose time Tlalpan 
was known after the name of the church, San Agustin 
de las Cuevas,^ gives a most amusing account of the great 
annual Whitsuntide gaming festival, and Del Rio tells 
me that la Feria de Tlalpan still continues to be fittingly 
celebrated by the exchange of temporary possessions in 
various forms of gambling, and that it's not quite inno- 
cent of cock-fights. 

However, we modems repaired to the tennis-court on 
arriving, where we found a dozen or so people using it 

^ St. Augustine of the Caves. 
96 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

to play hockey, and others sitting about in comfortable 
chairs watching the proceedings. We went for lunch 
and tea, but stayed for supper, all scampering to the 
house at tea-time, when a single, well-timed shower 
deluged the scene. 

Some played bridge, and some read. Del Rio is an 
agreeable, intellectual, bookish man, with degrees at 
several continental universities, and has a good library 
of new and old books. He also possesses some rather 
radical ideas, though his personal life, as is so often the 
case, plays itself out with conventionality on the highest 
of ethical planes. His wife, partly of German origin, is 
very pretty in a dark-eyed, unaffected, happy way. 

When the rain passed we went out and sat in the 
mirador, a sort of summer-house built into a corner of 
the high stone wall, a feature of every Mexican garden, 
and watched the sun-glow slipping from the hills, which 
took on a vivid blue, though the volcanoes kept their 
light in their own exclusive, dazzling way for long after. 
A pale moon, arisen among the sunset clouds, was wait- 
ing for its chance. By the time we started home through 
a magical night in an open motor, packed with flowers, 
a lot of us together, the moon was flooding the world 
and had cut the whole plateau into great squares of 
black and white. 

August loth. 

I have just seen a Hst of the diplomatic shifts. Dear 
Mr. O'Brien goes to Rome, the Ridgely-Carters, after 
their pleasant, successful years of Europe, to the Argen- 
tine. The Jacksons have been appointed to Rumania. 
It was very nice having them "near," in Havana. Each 
must take his turn in the tropics, but we aren't any of 
us physically fitted for prolonged sojourns, and I suppose 
they are delighted to return to Europe, after their 
"cycle of Cathay." 

97 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

Mr. Lloyd Bryce, so cultured and agreeable, has been 
appointed minister to Holland. With his beautiful wife 
and their gifts of fortune they will make a representation 
in a thousand. 

Mexico seems to me the best of the Latin-American 
posts, the most important to the United States, the most 
interesting, the most accessible. We are lucky to have 
got it, though I didn't feel so on the night of the loth of 
January, when the friendly porter of the Hotel Bristol 
(in Vienna), as I was coming down-stairs for one of the 
usual petits soupers, said to me: "So Madame is going 
to leave us?" When I asked, "Where?" he told me it 
was Mexico, having seen the Paris Herald before we 
had! It was like hearing we had been transferred to 
the moon. 

Penn Cresson, secretary at Lima, is passing through, 
en route for Washington. He says Peru is far; but he 
brings some very attractive photographs of his abode 
there, and it all depends, anyway, on what you take to a 
place yourself — the heart and brain luggage — whether 
you like it or not. 

Yesterday we started to call on Madame Bonilla, whom 
I had met at the Del Rios', and for whom Mr. Cresson 
had messages from the British consul-general and his 
wife in Lima, formerly in Mexico. Madame B. is an 
Englishwoman, and I had heard much of her great taste 
and the really good things she has picked up. 

When, on going to the address I thought was hers, 
we got into a hall with a life-size negro in plaster-of- 
Paris, draped with a pale blue scarf, and holding out a 
gilt card-receiver, placed near the door, and to whom 
we almost spoke, I was a bit taken aback. An Indian 
servant somewhat stealthily showed us into a dull-red 
dadoed room with a waving, light-blue ceiling, and many 
enlarged family photographs in black frames hanging 

98 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

against the walls. I saw C.'s interest wane as to the 
giving of the message, and when, after ten minutes, a 
large magenta-robed, hastily dressed, startled-looking 
dark lady appeared, we could only make our excuses. 
After much courtesy on her part, murmurings oi d la 
disposicion de usted, and more excuses from us, we got 
the address next door, where we found the kind of 
interior we were expecting, drank the freshest of tea 
brought in immediately by an accustomed servant, and 
poured by a charming lady never surprised at five 
o'clock. 

We fingered bits of silver, hearing just how they had 
been acquired, looked at the marks on the porcelain, 
admired some gorgeous seventeenth-century strips of 
brocade, all to the accompaniment of questions about 
mutual friends and the inexhaustible "Mexican situa- 
tion." Suum cuique. 

August 1 2th. 

Last night, dinner at the Danish Legation, where 
things are well and carefully done. I again sat next 
the Acting Secretary for Foreign Affairs, Carbajal y 
Rosas, a huge man with a black beard, and intellectual 
in our sense of the word. He talked very interestingly 
about Mexico and affairs here in general. In regretting 
certain things, he gave me a quotation from Taine to 
the effect that it is un pauvre patriotisme que celui qui 
s'imagine que Von doit excuser les crimes de son pays, 
simplement parcequ'on en est un citoyen. 

He and President de la Barra are great friends; and he 
thinks that after this coniing electoral term (six years) 
he should be President again — himself, I suppose, as 
Minister for Foreign Affairs. Now De la Barra, who is 
the candidate for the Vice-Presidency of the Catholic 
party, which is to be reorganized with a modern and 
republican program, could not be elected, even if he 
8 99 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

wished. The Madero wave sweeps everything else be- 
fore it, though De la Barra is filling a very difficult situa- 
tion with dignity and tact. He is called el Presidente 
Blanco (the White President) , for evident and creditable 
reasons. 

As we sat about the handsome, methodically arranged 
rooms after dinner they seemed filled not alone with 
Scandinavian household gods, but with the atmosphere 
of the north, and as entirely detached from Mexico as a 
polar bear carried to southern seas on a block of ice. The 
portrait of Mr. L.'s father, the author, and other por- 
traits of distinguished men of an unrelated race, watched 
us from the walls. Even the old pieces of silver and the 
bric-a-brac were but remotely connected with this present 
existence, and Mr. L.'s glass-doored bookcases were filled 
with Scandinavian literature. He is a cheval between 
Mexico City and Havana, but in Havana they live in a 
hotel, keeping the "Saga" here. 

F. Vasquez Gomez has announced himself as candidate 
for the coming presidential elections, but I expect it will 
end with the announcement. 

In toying with the Encyclopedia Britannica on a 
watery afternoon I accidentally came across the name 
of "Elim." I expected to see some hero of Russian 
history, but lo! it said, "Elim, third king of Ireland, 
killed in battle." I builded better than I knew! 

Assumption Day, August isth. 

Went to the cathedral this morning, walking down 
the broad streets through a glistening, dry air; this 
afternoon, however, hail, wind, and sheets of water are 
spoiling the holiday for the people. 

A dinner here last night. Beautiful, ragged, yellow 
chrysanthemums, much smaller than ours, decorated 
the table and drawing-room. The German and Russian 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

ministers, Penn Cresson, the McLarens, and others were 
the guests. 

A letter comes from Demidoff. He is leaving Paris to 
join Sofka, who is now in Russia with her people. They 
go together to Taguil in the Ural Mountains, to inspect 
their platinum mines. He is just back from a trip to the 
Spanish Pyrenees with Celestin after chamois, which 
latter he says don't compare with their Transylvanian 
cousins. He rather loftily asks if N. enjoys most parrot- 
shooting or monkey-stalking. His letter is interlarded 
with little questions as to when we are going to annex the 
country. 

He had been in charge for a month and had the 
excitement of a change of government and the Agadir 
incident during that time. At the Embassy, it would 
seem, they are one big, jolly family. It made me quite 
homesick. 

He winds up with a postscript, saying he had just 
finished The New Machiavelli. He considers it a chej 
d'osuvre, but I read it only a few months ago, and no 
book whose atmosphere and intrigue you forget in as 
short a time is great. 

I think of you and Sofka, standing in the station, as 
the train rolled out from Paris, that rainy Sunday, to 
Cherbourg, our first etape to the tropics. 

August 17 th. 

All quiet in Mexico City, but we understand that 
to-day a battle is taking place at Cuernavaca between 
Zapata, our "foremost" brigand, with three thousand 
troops, and the Federals. 

Those who know tell me that Zapata is atavistic in 
type, desirous of Mexico for the Indians, dlaa, celebrated 
Indian chief of the Sierras de Alica. "Mexico for the 
Indians" really iTieans a sponging out of everything 

lOI 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

between us and Montezuma, and decidedly "gives to 
think." 

A few days ago, dining at Silvain's, the French res- 
taurant in vogue here, we saw a General Huerta who 
seemed muy hombre, a broad-shouldered, fiat-faced, rest- 
less-eyed Indian with big glasses, rather impressive, who 
was returning to Morelos to fight Zapata. I don't know 
if this was his battle or not. 

The Russian minister is going on leave. I gave him a 
little green jade god, to take to Demidoff, sworn to me, 
in the name of various deities, to be what it appears to 
be, authentic. He is not handsome, but he has a delight- 
ful, smooth "feel" and something chic about him, in his 
own little Aztec way. 

August i8th. 
The Finance Ministry, which was just opposite when 
we first came, where Limantour created and guided the 
infant steps of Mexican finance {le premier pas qui coute) , 
is now converted into the Police Bureau. There are 
always a lot of people — women, children, young men and 
old — all in some kind of trouble, standing or sitting on 
the curve in the most picturesque combinations. It 
makes the street very human, almost too human, when 
lawbreakers are brought to justice in the night hours. 

August 20th. 

Two days ago N. met a man who knows all about your 
Avino mines, but nothing consoling. It is a splendid 
property, but had the misfortune to be exploited by one 
of the canniest of men. One, however, who didn't lie 
awake nights worrying about the investors, and who 
ruined it, as far as the investors are concerned, by always 
getting in new machinery, he taking the commissions on 
the machinery, which was easier and quicker than 

getting the ore out. 

1 02 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

The mining history of Mexico is romantic in the way 
Eastern tales of gleaming treasure are — a simple rubbing 
of Aladdin's lamp in many cases — and certainly her 
national destinies have been molded by the precious 
stores that her mountains hold. Some of the historic 
mines were so rich that the veins could be worked by 
bars with a point at one end and a chisel at the other, 
simply prying out the silver, sans autre forme de proces! 
The famous Bueno Suceso Mine in Sonora was discovered 
by an Indian who swam across the river after a great 
flood and found the crest of an immense lode laid bare 
by the action of the water — a pure, massive hump 
sparkling in the rays of the sun, 

I told you of the Conde de Regla's mine, the cele- 
brated Real del Monte at Pachuca and the wealth 
beyond the dreams of avarice that it brought in. He 
began life as a muletier by the name of Terreros, and 
ended by being able to lend the King of Spain a million 
pesos. 

The mines , of Catorce were discovered by a negro 
fiddler, who, caught out by the darkness on his way 
home over the mountain, built a fire en what happened 
to be a bare vein. The morning sun showed molten 
bits of pure silver glistening among the embers. It's all 
rather upsetting, collectively and individually. 

Padre Flores, a poor priest in a little town in this same 
San Luis Potosi, bought, for a small sum, from some one 
still poorer, a mining claim. When exploring it he came 
upon a small cavern which he straightway named "the 
purse of God," for in it he found great heaps of ore in a 
state of decomposition ! 

The Morelos Mine was discovered by two Indians, 
brothers, so poor that the night before they could not 
even buy a little corn for tortillas. Any Indian could 
dream this dream going over any mountain. 

103 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

There is the story of Almada, the owner of the cele- 
brated Quintera Mine, who, on the occasion of the mar- 
riage of his daughter, Hned the bridal chamber with 
silver and paved wdth silver the way which led from 
the house to the church. In fact, there is a vast bibli- 
ography of mining romance. Many of the lovely old 
churches in out-of-the-way places were built by the 
friars of the seventeenth century, who worked the mines 
solely to build churches and missions. Humboldt esti- 
mates that from its discovery up to his time (1803) 
Spanish America had sent nearly thirty milliards of 
piastres to Europe, an almost uncountable sum. 

It's diflficult to expect normal government from a 
people who, in some parts of their country, are nourished 
by the labor-saving banana and in other parts by tales 
of about one in every fifteen millions becoming, over- 
night, rich beyond imaginings. In the end it all must 
have some influence on the psychology of the inhabitants. 
Needless to add that your mine doesn't seem to be one 
in fifteen millions! 'Twill be well to dream some other 
dream ! 

August 27th. 

Last night a large crowd, or rather mob, assembled 
at the station to meet Madero on his return to town. 
He did not come on the announced train and the multi- 
tude then marched through the town, a squad of mounted 
soldiers behind, to keep them in mind that the whole 
earth does not yet belong to them. We were sitting in 
the library, about 10.30, as they passed through Calle 
Humboldt, making all kinds of unearthly noises. Sud- 
denly a little night-robed figure rushed in, saying, ' 'Ich will 
nicht getotet sein." Elim had awakened and jumped out 
of bed at the noise, thinking the revolutionary fate he 
hears so much about was upon him. 

The German minister gave a large dinner last night, 

104 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

and afterward I played bridge with Otto Scherer, the 
big cientifico Jewish banker, a friend of the Speyers, the 
Schwalbachs, et al. He didn't draw his trumps out, and 
so lost the rubber. I didn't mind. It was so amusing to 
see a large financial light on his way to join the ten thou- 
sand English who are at Boulogne for the same reason. 

I am going to take Elim out to lunch at Mrs. Kilvert's 
at Coyoacan, and must now get ready. They have an 
old house, trimmed with Bougainvillea outside and 
lined with books inside. To-night we dine at the 
McLarens' — a dinner for James Garfield, who is their 
guest. 

St. Augustine's Day, August 28th. 

Have been thinking of you to-day, as you will know. 
The once famous Church of San Agustin is now the 
National Library, so I went to San Hipolito near by, 
equally interesting, and one of the oldest in Mexico, 
dating from 1525. It was built on the spot where 
hundreds of Spaniards lost their lives during the retreat 
of the "Melancholy Night." But I was thinking of the 
Nauheim days, and all the preparations for your feast, 
and so much that has slipped "into the vast river 
flowing." I hope you got the pearl pin. 

Spent yesterday at the Bonillas'. They have a tumble- 
down, picturesque old country house, unoccupied for a 
generation, that they are beginning to put in order, 
with a jewel of an unkempt old garden, where all the 
growing things have just done as they beautifully pleased. 
It is a favorite spot for picnics for our little circle — not 
too far out of town, just beyond Tacubaya. After 
luncheon, partaken of under an arbor of mosquete and 
honeysuckle at the end of a lovely white-pillared walk, 
we wandered over the maguey-planted hills stretching 
back of the garden. 

Von H. does not care about it all. As we sat on the 

105 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

hillside, talking of Iswolsky, Demidoff, and Petersburg, 
where he was for seven and a half years naval aide, 
ad latere, to the Czar from the Kaiser, I thought how 
little, after all, he was fitted for a background of agave 
Americana. 

Such a sweet letter from Miton S., from Copenhagen, 
with a photograph of their charming Legation drawing- 
room — with Miton 's portrait and that of Janos by Tini 
Rupprecht hanging on the wall. She tells me she returns 
to Horpacs, where Laszlo is to do her portrait and her 
sister's. They are occupied with the familiar Copen- 
hagen round, golfing every day at beautiful Klampen- 
borg, and are going to the Fryjs' magnificent place for 
a visit, and later to Norway chez les Lowenskiold. 

August SI St. 

Mr. Garfield came to lunch to-day with the McLarens. 
He is most agreeable, and is trying to pursue the polit- 
ical game along altruistic lines. I certainly wish him 
success. He, too, hopes all things from Madero. So 
few Americans have come this way that to have any 
of the really nice ones here is a great treat. It made me 
think of all those far-away tales of my childhood, when 
you knew his father as President. The luncheon was the 
vehicle for one of those informal, intimate exchanges 
from like standpoints, always so particularly agreeable 
against an exotic background. 

Yesterday, the 30th, Madero was nominated for 
President by the Mexican Progressive party in con- 
vention in the city. As it was a case of "birds of a 
feather," all went off smoothly as far as that special 
assemblage was concerned, though any kind of peace is 
apt to be rather noisy, I have discovered, this side of the 
Rio Grande. The elections, primary and secondary, 
are set for October ist and isth. 

106 



IX 



The Vfrgen de los Remedies — General Bernardo Reyes — A description 
of the famous ceremony of the "Grito de Dolores" at the palace 

September jst, evening. 

TO-DAY was the feast of the Vlrgen de los Remedios, 
once so important in "New Spain," and, as I had 
planned, Mr. de Soto and I made the pilgrimage there. 

It was the first church Cortes built in Mexico, on the 
site of the Aztec temple, where he and his battered 
remnant halted to bind up their wounds after the retreat 
from Mexico City in the "Melancholy Night." We 
started out at eight o'clock, on a dazzling morning, 
rather weakly and apologetically within ourselves and 
to each other, in a carriage, which took us through the 
Paseo to Popotla and Tacuba and Azcapotzalco, where 
we descended and crossed some maguey-fields fringed 
by squat, half -ruined adobe huts. 

We jumped endless ditches, made after the antique 
pattern, until we finally reached an uncovered horse- 
tramway, crowded with such specimens of the plebs as 
had the superfluous centavos for wheeled conveyances. 
We were finally deposited at San Bartolo Naucalpam, 
and then did the rest of the way, several kilometers, 
decently and fittingly on foot, climbing over the white, 
shining, pathless tepetate, which, with the pink tezontle, 
has been from all time the building material for Mexico 
City. We were in the foot-hills of the Sierra de las 

107 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

Cruces, covered with a scant vegetation, various lands 
of cactus, or an occasional drbol de Peru. 

The Indians seem to partake of this thinness of the 
soil, this strange, vanishing quality of light, this dis- 
solving of horizons, this pulsing of colors. A generative, 
effective something is underneath all the unrest and 
disorder of the miserable political systems they seem to 
produce, and if a race is constantly being born into a 
world of wondrous light and color, it can persist in spite 
of everything else being impossible. 

Indians were rapidly and silently approaching from 
all sides as we neared the church, which I had only seen 
pressed against the purple hills, wonderfully trans- 
figured at sunset or catching the light in the morning 
hours. Mexico can hold the fancy quite independent 
of the work of man. But when one adds the activities 
of that creative, potent, Spanish race, infinitely inspired 
by the background already perfect, with the building 
materials, tepetate and tezontle, white and pink, giving 
them what they wanted to place against green and blue, 
the beauty of the result, wrapped in the strange transpar- 
ence of the plateau, is not to be wondered at. 

Everywhere we looked we found something that 
needed only to be framed to make a perfect picture, a 
dome {media naranja, half orange, they call the form), 
with its attendant belfry of reddish-gray lace against a 
hill, a group of Indians resting, with notes of red zarape, 
white trousers, peaked hat. Any spot can become a 
shop; there is just a spreading out of their wares, and 
though the jefe politico of their special pueblo sees that 
they don't vend without a license, at least there is no 
rent. 

The basket-venders, the sandal-venders, the pottery- 
venders, the water-carriers, the carriers of glass jars 
of precious pulque, were out in force, and the candle- 

iq3 




Photograph by Ravell 



A TYPICAL GROUP OF CORN-SELLERS 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

trade was going strong, as we ascended the crooked, 
crowded way to the patio. The buildings about were 
crumbling and neglected, and the smell of the pungent 
messes the Indians put into their tortillas was mingled 
with faint whiffs of incense. 

Everywhere the tortilleras were busy patting up their 
tortillas, sitting squatted on their heels, occasionally on 
a petate made from tules (reeds), but they seem to prefer 
Mother Earth with their children tumbling about. We 
got through the crowd to the door of the church where 
clouds of incense, smoke from numberless candles held 
in pious hands, and a persistent, almost visible, odor 
of Aztec, la race cuivr^e, further thickened the air. 

No one noticed us. When you may have come fifty 
kilometers on foot to worship a Dios Todopoderoso a 
stranger or two doesn't count. They were kneeling 
thickly pressed around the high altar, bending, with 
their sombreros or their burdens laid in front of them, 
with their arms extended, heads raised, a grave, strange- 
eyed race, at the oldest of all occupations, communion 
with its Maker. 

Peons almost never sing, but a wheezy organ was 
playing, and the priest, whom I could just see, was 
giving the blessing after Mass. The lie missa est did 
not, however, empty the church as it does the temples 
of more sophisticated races, and it remained tightly 
packed. There are some old pictures, De Soto told me, 
of authentic date of the first period after the Conquest, 
but the church was somber, and they were so darkened 
by time that one couldn't tell. 

As for the Virgen de los Remedios herself I could only 
dimly perceive her over the heads of Indians kneeling 
before the little chapel of the shrine, where a few bunches 
of red-berried branches mingled with the paper and tinsel 
flowers. It is a small, wooden figure rudely carved, hold- 

log 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

ing an Infant Jesus. Tradition has it that on the sev- 
eral occasions when it was decided to render it more 
artistic the artist appointed straightway sickened and 
died. The figure is supposed to have belonged to one 
of Cortes's captains, who brought it from Spain and who 
clung to it through all the horrors and dangers of the 
"Melancholy Night." He afterward placed it for safe- 
keeping in a huge maguey plant, where it was found a 
generation later by a baptized Indian. 

For centuries a great silver maguey, which Madame 
C. de la B. (also that unflagging but amusing rejecter of 
all things Romish, R. A. Wilson) spoke of seeing, was 
inclosed in her shrine. 

At the time of the struggle for independence startling 
anecdotes were recorded in connection with her. She 
was the patroness of the Spaniards, who had her dressed 
in the full regimentals of a general, in competition with 
the celebrated Virgin of Guadalupe, the great patroness 
of independent Mexico and the Indians. The Mexicans 
defeated the Spaniards at the battle of Las Cruces, 1810, 
and then the Virgin was summarily stripped of her 
general's uniform, her sash and various insignia being 
torn from her and her passports given her — a touch 
of the party spirit which continues to be the curse of 
Mexico. 

The Virgin of the Remedies was, among other things, 
the great rain-maker, and in the viceregal days was often 
carried in gorgeous processions through the city (of 
course the naturally rainy months were tout indiques 
for the procession). De Soto tells me there is still 
an old proverb, Hasta el agua nos debe venir de la 
Gachupina} 

After the Laws of Reform were adopted the silver 
raiHng which inclosed the altar, the great silver maguey, 
^ We must get even the water from the Spanish woman, 

IIO 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

and all the treasures of jewels and votive offerings, went 
into the national exchequer, with the unfortunate result 
that now there is nothing in the church and nothing in 
the treasury. The aforesaid Mr. Wilson, who demolishes 
every Aztec dream of Prescott and almost routs Hum- 
boldt from the scene, was particularly wrathy at the 
idea of the three petticoats she wore, one embroidered 
in pearls, one in rubies, and one in diamonds. 

Perhaps it was because he only found what he calls a 
"brand-new Paris doll" when he was there in 1859, after 
the Laws of Reform. 

I wanted to linger, but pangs of hunger, as well as 
great banks of clouds, every possible shade of gray, 
rolling up high, with here and there a patchwork of 
dazzling blue, reminded us that there are various ways 
of getting rain. By the time we reached Calle Humboldt 
it was nearly three o'clock, and as we lunched great 
cracks of thunder sounded, the heavens opened, and then 
came the rattling of hail. I thought with pity of the 
shelterless Indians on the hill, whose whole life is some 
simple yet mysterious pilgrimage from the cradle to the 
grave, and stupidly wished them all sorts of things they 
can't have. 

September jd. 

writes that ever5rthing on the Isthmus is a 

chaos or a drifting. The government is so uncertain 
that nobody dares make any move except the brigands 
and revolutionaries; and they, it would appear, are 
always lively. Revolution comes easily in Mexico; it's 
done with a light spontaneity, north, east, west, and 
south, that "gives to think." It just bubbles up, now 
the "lid is off," inherent and artless, like any other 
disquieting natural phenomenon. 

The great thing to read is Madero's Presidential Stic- 
cession. I have been looking at it, expecting to be more 

III 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

interested than I am, but the subject-matter, it seems 
to me, is onl}^ interesting because it appUes to Mexico. 
Otherwise it is a bit platitudinous — the kind of thing 
that in all ages sincere demagogues have preached to 
the people. It has, however, served to bring a sort of 
democratic party, a so-called government by the people, 
into being, but any kind of liberal bird, methinks, is apt 
to lose a few tail-feathers here. 

September sth. 

Waiting for Tuesday visitors. I tried the first and 
third Tuesdays, but it was a bore remembering which, 
so I am at home every Tuesday. Sometimes they are 
interesting, sometimes not, as is the way of "days." 

Later. 

Mrs. Martin's English friend from Japan presented 
his letter this afternoon. As De Soto and the new- 
ly appointed Mexican minister to Vienna, Covarru- 
bias, were here, and this latter was anxious to get a 
lot of Vienna details, the elements were somewhat di- 
verse. 

A letter from Cal O'Laughlin tells us that Arthur 
-Willert, of the London Times, is on his way to Mexico to 
write up the situation for his paper. He adds that people 
are beginning to regard affairs in Mexico as little less 
serious than the Boxer outrages, and that a good deal 
of apprehension is felt. He himself is off for a trip 
through Canada to write up reciprocity as the Canadians 
look at it. 

I am sending you a photograph of the "Man of the 
Hour." As you will see, being photographed is not his 
"forte"; he sits wooden-faced in a huge, carved arm- 
chair, with a copy of the Constitution in his hands and 
the date 1857 picked out in shining white on the covers. 
He is now in Yucatan, making one of his accustomed 

112 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

political tournees. He is developing into a sort of "Reise- 
Kaiser." It is rumored that from the state of sisal and 
henequen he will pick his running-mate. 

Gen. Bernardo Reyes was stoned and robbed and 
mobbed when he attempted to make a speech the 
other day, and things are pretty noisy. He was rescued 
by the police from the infuriated mob with the greatest 
difficulty. He had just resigned his commission in the 
army in order to be ready to serve an evidently unwilling 
country as Chief Executive. 

September 12th, evening. 

I sent you a rather hasty line this morning in com- 
memoration of 's birthday, the best and most faithful 

of friends for this Hfe and the next. I went to early Mass 
to San Lorenzo, in the old part of the town, one of the 
ways of seeing Mexico City. 

Indians were sweeping the Alameda as I passed 
through, with brooms of dry bushes tied on to long 
sticks. A thin, pinky-white sun was filtering through 
the lovely trees, and watering-carts were in evidence, 
making rather scant tracings on the dusty, untrodden 
streets of the night. 

A little boy was drinking from a gutter, like some 
puppy — his morning meal, I suppose. I do hope he took 
the pennies I gave him to some place where he could 
fill his little "tummy." The population, Indian and 
Mestizo only, up and about their tasks, were shivering 
a little in the chilly morning. Long lines of arrieros, 
bringing their heavily laden donkeys into town with the 
day's provision for le ventre de Mexico, were prodding 
and exhorting their burros none too gently. 

Priests introduced the donkey here in the sixteenth 
century, to relieve the Indian of his burdens, and the 
poor beasts have had an awful time ever since. The 
only live stock for whose comfort the Indians are really 

113 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

solicitous is the fighting-cock. He is fed, he is housed, 
and his vagaries and exigencies are tenderly followed. 

Elim has just asked me, with a hopeful gleam in his 
young eye, what "raining cats and dogs" means, a 
side-light on the afternoon weather. 

The government would love to defer the elections 
for a while, but the authorities don't dare not carry out 
the promised program. 

To-day Arthur Willert, the very agreeable I^ondon 
Times correspondent, just arrived, lunched with us, and 
we got a view of Mexico from another angle, and a lot 
of outside news. Evidently they are pessimistic in 
Washington. He comes to tea to-morrow to meet the 
McLarens and Von H., to whom he also has a letter. 
As Von H. is busy hunting down the perpetrators of the 
Puebla outrage, with his own strength and time and 
money, he does not see anything couleur de rose, and 
Willert will get nothing cheerful from him. 

Saturday we dined at the new British Legation, the 
first dinner Hohler has given there. It is really quite 
lovely. A dado of Puebla tiles has just been completed 
around the hall and stairway, and the large rooms are 
sparingly and very decoratively arranged with H.'s 
good things, pending the arrival from England of the 
government furnishings. 

The new houses here are generally horrors; they don't 
even build them with patios, and it seems criminal to 
shut out of daily life this beauty of light and sky. Many 
of the new buildings are almost like miniature New 
York tenements, with light-shafts only for some of the 
rooms. My patio, with its square of heaven, is an abid- 
ing joy. 

A cable came from Prince Festetics, whom we had 
congratulated on the occasion of his new title. But it 
all seems a far dream of a far past. 

114 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

Luncheon here yesterday — to the Horigutchis, the 
Norwegians, Mr. Wilson, of course, and Mr. Bird from 
New York. Mr. Bird brought a letter to us, and is down 
here in connection with a mining claim that has been 
on the Embassy files for nearly twenty years to one 
of the richest mines in Mexico. He is accompanied by 
a white-bearded, magnetic old gentleman of some 
ninety years. 

September ijth. 

Last night a huge banquet in honor of the ambassador 
given by the leading male American citizens. The 
consuls all over Mexico sent telegrams of congratulation, 
and Mr. Wilson made one of his accustomed polished 
and trenchant speeches. Mr. Hudson's toast (he is the 
clever editor of the Mexican Herald, that no breakfast 
is complete without) was to "Mexico present and 
future." It was not more optimistic than the occasion 
required, but certainly more so than the actual situation 
warrants. He did touch on the most vital question, 
as to whether the results of the election will be peaceably 
accepted by the people, and hoped they would recognize 
the necessity of abiding by the result of the polls next 
month. All sorts of political shades are appearing. It 
isn't just one solid Madero color, as it was four months 
ago. 

September 15th, morning. 

This is Independence Day here, and Heaven alone 
knows how Mexico will celebrate it. To-night at the 
palace, which I have not yet seen officially, is held the 
famous ceremony of the "Grito de Dolores." 

September i6th. 

Everything quiet in Calle Humboldt. N. has gone 
to the Embassy for late work, servants are invisible, 
the infant is in the "first sweet dreams of night," and 
9 IIS 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

I can have an hour with you about the celebration 
last night, which was most interesting. 

I went rather contre gre. The heavens had been 
more than usually lavish with their water-gifts during 
the afternoon, and the house was damp and chilly. But 
I got into the black velvet with the gray and jet design, 
so easy to don, as any black dress should be, and we were 
ready when the ambassador came for us. 

We passed through the brilliantly lighted and be- 
flagged Avenida San Francisco to the Zocalo, where 
an immense crowd was already assembling. Mounted 
police were dashing to and fro as we passed under the 
"Puerta de Honor," through which the Corps Diplo- 
matique enters on official occasions. The huge bronze 
statue of Benito Juarez, still and shining, caught the 
patio lights. I suppose the real Benito was watching the 
proceedings also from some angle, up or down, I can't 
say. 

We went up the broad stairway with the handsomest 
and reddest of carpets, which AUart said had been 
bought for the Centenario celebration. We entered the 
Sala de Espera at the top, where our wraps were dis- 
posed of, under a huge allegorical picture of "La Con- 
stituci6n." We then went through a series of really 
handsome rooms in the sumptuous style; with their 
great proportions and high ceilings they are most im- 
pressive. Everjrwhere are hung pictures of their il- 
lustrious men, who mostly did not die in their beds — 
Hidalgo, Morelos, Iturbide, Juarez, Diaz. 

At one time I found myself in a huge room, and look- 
ing down upon me was the delicate, ascetic face of 
Hidalgo — " other- worldliness" stamped all over it. The 
scroll in his hand, proclaiming independence to Mexico, 
the same kind, unfortunately, I should judge, that we 
were there to celebrate, testified to the fires consuming 

ii6 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

him from the earthly furnace of liberty and regeneration, 
in which he dreamed of purifying his nation and his 
race. The pictures, however, are mostly more remark- 
able for their size and the value of their frames than 
for their artistic work. 

We were received with dignity and ceremony by Presi- 
dent de la Barra and the members of his Cabinet. But 
Madero was the center of attraction as he moved about 
with a dreamy, pleased expression, not unduly elated, 
however. A sort of simplicity stamps all that he does. 
The women were mostly in hats. Their afternoon cos- 
tumes are apt to be the dressiest. But the Corps Diplo- 
matique was en grande toilette. We had been wondering, 
in absence of notification from the Foreign Office, what 
we were to wear, but accepted Hohler's verdict that 
"after seven o'clock you can't go wrong in evening 
togs." 

As we strolled about the handsome rooms a life- 
size painting of the German Emperor, given on I don't 
know what occasion, was the only European sovereign 
we met. There are many fine Chinese vases. In the 
red room, they told me, those supporting the candelabra 
had belonged to Maximilian, but during viceregal days 
much very beautiful Chinese porcelain found its way to 
Mexico from the East to the port of Acapulco, and was 
brought up to the capital on the backs of Indian runners. 

Sefior Calero, the very clever Minister of Justice, 
took me out to supper. The table was high, and as we 
stood instead of sitting at our destined places we were 
not too far from our plates. 

Calero speaks unmistakable American-English ex- 
tremely well, with a slight Middle-West twang. He 
knows almost all the things we Anglo-Saxons know, and 
some that we don't. Though still in deep mourning, 
black studs, cuff -buttons, vest, etc., for his first wife, 

117 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

he was accompanied by a pretty, shy bride of two weeks, 
who seemed to be very pleased at finding herself stand- 
ing just across the table from him. I suppose there is 
some rule here about wearing black which does not take 
into consideration possible early reblossomings. He is 
extremely clever, and I fancy very ambitious. However, 
as honors, wealth, and power are the natural objects of 
human life, why not? 

The table was decorated with three splendid silver 
^pergnes, and some very large, fine fruit-dishes, all bear- 
ing the tragic and imperial crest; though I understood 
from AUart that the plate used for the service of the 
supper dated from Diaz's time, and was first used when 
the famous Pan-American Congress met in Mexico City. 

A blaze of light came from the great crystal chan- 
deliers, and the walls and windows were hung with crim- 
son brocade. We went through a long menu, with 
many courses and appropriate wines. I think no ex- 
pense was spared. De la B. is used to functions, any- 
way. 

Of course, the great moment of the evening was the. 
ringing of the Independence Bell. The President 
stepped out on the little balcony overlooking the Plaza, 
a few minutes before midnight, followed by Madero, 
and voiced the celebrated cry, "Libertad e Indepen- 
dencia" while just above the balcony sounded the 
Campana de la Independencia, which Hidalgo rang to 
call the patriots together in Dolores on the night of 
September 15, 18 10. 

Then the great bells of the cathedral rang out, and 
cheers and cries came from a crowd of about a hundred 
thousand people. 

The President asked me to go out on the balcony; 
I was the only lady of the American Embassy present, 
and I stood there for a few minutes between him and 

118 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

Madero and looked down upon those thousands of up- 
turned faces. I felt the thrill of the crowd. Nameless 
emanations o their strange psychology reached me. 
But also I was sad, thinking of the impossible which has 
been promised them. 

Madero was very silent, but h s hands twitched ner- 
vously as he gazed out over that human mass he had 
come to save. I felt how diverse our thoughts as we 
stood looking down on the faces, on that forest of peaked 
hats, on police riding down the little avenues which 
traced themselves between the crowd. Everything was 
orderly. I think Gustave Le Bon could have added an- 
other chapter to La Psychologie des Foules. 



X 



The uncertainty of Spanish adverbs — Planchette and the destiny of the 
state — Madame Bonilla's watery garden-party — De la Barra's 
"moderation committee" — Madero's "reform platform" 

September 2isL 

TO-DAY we go for a farewell lunch at the Austrian 
charge's, who is leaving almost immediately. His 
cousin, the new Austrian minister, Riedl von Riedenau, 
and his American wife, have arrived and are to have 
his house. 

I have been out very little lately — only to a dinner at 
Hohler's and a luncheon at the Embassy. This is not 
a climate where foreigners can put screws on themselves 
with impunity. The mornings are indescribably clear- 
washed, brilliant, radiant, but the trouble about all this 
beauty is that it is too high. Very few resist it a la 
longue. 

I have been reading C. F. Lummis's Spanish Pioneers 
— a noble picture of their romantic achievements. I am 
sending it. Please keep it with my other Mexicana. I 
am also sending Howard's End, this last a history of a 
life, to fill a dark afternoon. 

I hear Elim, who is picking up a lot of Spanish, re- 
monstrating with Elena, saying, "No manana, oritaP'^ 
His infant soul has perceived the full significance of the 
fatal word manana. Orita, I have discovered, is also 

1 Not to-morrow, immediately. 

I20 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

apt to be followed by a maddening wait ; and, in general, 
Spanish adverbs of time awaken uneasiness. 

September 2jd. 

Last night there was a big dinner at Von H.'s,at which 
I did the mattresse de maison. I wore the pastel-blue 
satin with the silver embroidery and the dull-pink 
bows. I thought I had ruined it forever in Vienna, 
at the French Embassy, when the French ambassador 
had his ball of twenty couples only, for the Princesse 
de Parme, and I gaily swept the floor with it during 
some hours. Gabrielle, however, who realizes that the 
source of gowns is far, has resurrected it. 

There was much talk of the great reliance Madero 
places on the spirits. It is said that Madame M. goes 
into spiritualistic trances, and when in that condition 
answers doubtful questions, and that the planchette is 
fated to play a role in the destiny of the state. 

However that may be, there is a most authentic story 
of Madero's having consulted the spirits through the 
medium of the planchette some years ago. When he 
asked what the future had in store for him he was told 
that he would one day be President of Mexico. He is 
supposed to have arranged his life in conformity to this 
prophecy, which put him in a condition of mind where 
everything that happened of happy or unhappy augury 
bore on the fulfilment of this destiny. It is certainly 
one way of coercing fate. 

There was an amusing but watery garden-party at 
Madame Bonilla's. We found ourselves at one time 
sitting under a dripping arbor of white musk-roses in a 
rain resembling a cloudburst. A large lizard fell from 
the arbor on to the ambassador's head, and thence into 
my lap, and various other zoological specimens were 
washed down from time to time. The ambassador, 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

immaculately garbed in newly arrived London clothes, 
suggested, but rather feebly, the impossible feat of going 
home. After everybody's clothes were spoiled, we made 
a two-hundred-yard dash to the uninhabited, pictu- 
resque house, where it speedily got dark. There were no 
means of lighting, of course, as the house had not been 
lived in since the dear old candle days. The French 
minister, so handsome and most carefully dressed in 
gray, was also perfectly miserable under the arbor, with 
the elements at work, though he repeated at intervals, 
"Faisons bonne mine a mauvais temps," and recklessly 
took what had once been my black tulle hat, now turned 
into a formless thing of gummy consistency, under his 
immaculate gray "wing." 

The Latins in general, and the French in particular, 
don't care about unsuccessful al fresco entertainments. 
The volcanoes, as I stood at one of the wide windows, 
showed themselves from time to time, in strange rend- 
ings of the heavens by narrow threads of lightning, 
with something frightening and portentous in the aspect 
of their red-brown peaks. Above them were great, shift- 
ing masses of blue-black clouds. 

Finally the violence of the storm passed and a 
chastened group of picnickers groped their way down 
the broad old stairway into the Uttle patio, where the 
autos were waiting, and we were infolded in some of 
those strange shadows that seem to creep up from the 
earth rather than descend from the heavens. 

I have a lovely photograph of the volcanoes, with a 
pine-tree in the foreground, taken from the Bonillas' 
place. I am sending it.^ 

I have just come back from looking up at my starry 
square. Unknown constellations are near, but you are 
far. Good night. 

^ Vide A Diplomat's Wife in Mexico, 

123 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

September 25th. 

We notice there is a coldness in Maderista quarters 
at any praise of President de la B. He is too popular. 
He could unite in his person too many factions, old and 
new. Even that invisible "smart set" might re-emerge 
from Paris or the country. Up to now I have not laid 
eyes on a member of what would be known in Vienna 
as the erste Gesellschajl, with the exception of young 
Manuel Martinez del Campo, who began his diplomatic 
career under Diaz and is now Third Introducer of 
Ambassadors. 

De la B. has appointed a "moderation committee." 
Its real use, when all is boiled down, is, if possible, to 
prevent the various factions from calling one another 
names, or even taking one another's lives. I say, "God 
bless our home." 

General Reyes is very strong in certain quarters. I 
liked' his eyes, shrewd yet kindly, and his firm hand- 
clasp, when I met him that time at the British corona- 
tion housewarming. For some reason, outside the 
army he is not popular. The "common people" (I 
don't know just what that expression means here) don't 
like him. With postponement either he or De la B. 
might be elected, though De la B. reiterates that he does 
not want it. Now the Madero tide is high, and will with- 
out doubt wash him into the presidency. 

September 27th. 

Elections in the land of revolution and maguey are 
to be held on Sunday. Everybody is wondering how 
the people will stand the change from the iron hand to 
sufragio efectivo. 

Just ba,ck from lunch at the French Legation. Mr. 
Lefaivre is never so happy as when he is offering hos- 
pitality. Their beautiful old silver is out, the dining- 

123 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

room glistening with it, priceless dishes and platters 
from Madame Lefaivre's family. 

The Legation seemed very pleasant when De Vaux 
had it, but, of course, many valuable things then packed 
away have made their appearance since the minister's 
return. Madame Lefaivre returns next month. The 
luncheon was for Baron and Baroness Riedl, just ar- 
rived from Rio de Janeiro, via Paris. They will be a 
great addition to the "Cuerpo." 

Baroness R. had On a dark-blue and white foulard, 
smacking of La Ville Lumihe, and a trim, black hat put 
on at the right angle. We had a very pleasant lunch. 
It is always amusing to put new-comers wise to the 
actual situation. Of course, the Simons and ourselves 
are almost too bright for daily use. Rio is a place with 
many Austro-Hungarian interests, but since the days of 
Maximilian there has been little enthusiasm about 
Mexico in the Austro-Hungarian political breast. After 
all these years, nearly half a century, there are under 
a thousand of Riedl's nationals in the whole of Mexico. 

To-morrow night, dinner at the Brazilian charge's for 
the Riedls, and as the other colleagues follow with 
affairs it will all mean quite a little round of gaiety. 

I must go to the station to meet dear Mrs. Wilson, 
who arrives on the eight-o'clock train from Indianapolis, 
accompanied by her sister. 

September 30th. 

Just returned from the Requiem Mass for the five hun- 
dred sailors and officers of La Liberie. It was most im- 
pressive, with a great Tricolore unfurled across the 
high altar. Nearly all the lost were Bretons, and over 
a thousand widows and orphans are weeping. The Mass 
was held in the Church of El Colegio de Ninos, on one 
of the busiest down- town corners, and which has sur- 
vived many different tides of life. It is now the "French " 

124 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

church, served by French clergy, and is clean and orderly, 
but dismantled of beauty or treasures. 

It dates from Fray Pedro de Gante, one of the great- 
est of the friars, and I dare say was once full of beautiful 
things, now possessed or scattered by tourists, or by 
various breeds of revolutionaries. Mexico has been such 
a bottomless, inexhaustible source of treasures fashioned 
by the genius of Spain. 

The political outlook is still very uncertain. Madero, 
of course, for President. The vice-presidency between 
de la Barra, who does not want it, another man, Vasquez 
Gomez, who does want it, and Pino Suarez, the obscure 
and evidently not over-popular Maderista candidate 
from Yucatan. Personally I shall be most sorry to see 
the De la B.s go. They are people of the world. De la 
B. is a trained diplomat, and these months of his "In- 
terinato"^ have been a "finishing-school" indeed. His 
father and mother were Chilians, afterward naturahzed 
in Mexico. 

Crowds parade the streets crying " Pino-no-no-no!'* 
Why Madero insists on that running-mate we don't 
understand. Pino Suarez was an unknown editor of a 
Yucatan newspaper before fate beckoned to him, making 
him first governor of Yucatan, and now pointing him 
on to the vice-presidency. 

Madero's party, with its banner cry, "No reeleccidn 
y sufragio efectivo," is called "Progressive Constitutional" 
(we couldn't do better at home). His platform, if it 
will hold under the weight of virtue and happiness it 
bears, is quite wonderful. 

To begin with, it re-establishes the "dignity of the 
Constitution," and there is to be no re-election. The 
press is to have its antique shackles struck off, pensions 
and indemnities for working-men are to be introduced, 

* Interinato, ad interim presidency. 
125 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

and the railways are to be "Mexicanized," which will 
make travel a bit uncertain for a while. Even the 
jefes must go. 

I couldn't explain, if I would, the real uses of the jefe. 
You have to Hve in Mexico to understand even dimly 
his attributes. Madero, whom no difficulties daunt, 
even tackles the vexed question of the Indians, saying 
that he intends to show the same interest in their affairs 
as in those pertaining to other shades of Mexicans, 
especially in those of the Mayas and the Yaquis, whose 
tragic deportations in great groups from hot climates to 
cold climates, and vice versa, have long been, a blot on 
the Mexican 'scutcheon. In fact, everything is to be 
made over — the judiciary, the army. Foreign relations 
are to be founded on brotherly love instead of interest; 
a fight is to be waged against alcoholism and gambling; 
and there are many other reforms I don't remember 
now. Ojald, but it makes me sad! 



XI 

Election of Madero— The strange similarity between a Mexican election 
and a Mexican revolution— The penetrating cold in Mexican houses 
— Madame de la Barra's reception — The Volador. 

Sunday evening, October ist. 

THIS morning we started out in good season for a 
Sabbath run, shaking the election dust from our 
feet, or rather wheels, skimming out through the shin- 
ing city, which yesterday afternoon had had what may 
be its last good bath till next June. 

We went out the broad Tlalpan road, black with 
motors full of golfers, and when we got to a place called 
Tepepa began the magic ascent of the Ajusco hills 
between us and Cuemavaca, with a continual looking 
back. For at our feet was spread the lovely "vale of 
Anahuac," like some kingdom laid out in a great chart 
of emerald, turquoise, and jasper. 

An unexpected rain-cloud was threatening from over 
the western hills, and across the valley columns of light 
and shade continually passed and repassed. Every dome 
and spire of the city shone, but the hill of Chapultepec 
was black, distinct, and solitary, only the castle a white 
point. At one moment we found ourselves hanging over 
the lovely lake of Xochimilco, with its green, lush, sweet- 
water shores, and the verdant band of the lake of Chalco 
showed itself separated from the barren white tequesquite 
shores of LakeTexcoco only by a narrow strip of roadway. 

The two Penones and the hill of Guadalupe were 
sometimes dark and sometimes shining, and a far-off 

127 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

fringe of sapphire hills marked the valley's end. It was 
"Jerusalem the Golden," well worth sighing for. 

At a place called Topilejo we found a church on a 
hillock by the side of the road, its large atrium up a 
row of grassy steps, entered by an old carved archway. 
Looking through it, we saw a strange sort of festival 
going on, having a decided Moorish touch. 

What seemed to be kings were seated in a row of rush- 
bottomed stools. Gaudy crowns of gilded cardboard, 
or something stiff and glittering, crowned them, and 
about them were flung twisted capes, like the Arab 
burnoose, with the hood falling back. The play was 
proceeding con niucha calma except for a large Indian, 
evidently "stage manager," who was trying to bring 
about some sort of denouement. Behind was the open 
church door. It was about twelve o'clock, and the last 
Mass had been said. A melancholy chanting proceeded 
from some Indians, their hands tied together, who stood 
in front of the "kings." It was all strange and unex- 
pected on those heights. 

The village on the other side of the road was in the 
sneezing and coughing throes of one of the bronchial 
epidemics so common in cold or damp weather in the 
hills. The children were scarcely covered; I can't bear 
to think of all the little brown backs and thighs in these 
cold waves. A dreadful, unrestrained-appearing person, 
in a battered hat and warm red zarape, looking as if he 
might have been the "father" of the village, towered 
above them all, everything about him bespeaking pulque. 
We decided that "song" was what he had given up. 

Silent Indians, carboneros, inhabit these parts, and 
their fires could be seen high up on the wooded mountain- 
sides. They were coming and going, bent, and almost 
hidden under great sacks of charcoal. We sped on till 
we got to a place called La Cima, the highest point, 

128 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

whence I wanted to make a dash for Cuernavaca, in 
spite of brigands, but the gentlemen and the chauffeur 
decided against it. Here was a huge stone cross, La Cruz 
del Marques; soHtary and moss-grown, it still stands, 
marking the boundary of lands once granted to Cortes 
by the crown, where he passed on the venturesome 
march to Mexico City from Cuernavaca, 

I indulged my passion for Cortes by walking around 
the historic cross and picking an unfamiliar scarlet 
flower, while the men worried about Zapata and his 
brigand host, to whom these hills belong in 191 1. 

After some parleying we turned back. But beyond 
the hills lay the Hot Country, full to the south, its mys- 
terious valleys filled with gorgeous blossoms, where 
vanilla, myrtle, jalap, cocoa, and smilax grow. Four 
hours down would have brought us into the fullness of 
its beauty, to lovely Cuernavaca, once the haunt of 
kings and emperors, where Cortes pondered on the 
insecurity of princely favor and planned his expedition 
to the Mar del Sur.^ Now it is the capital of Zapata, 
and shunned since a few months by anybody with 
anything on his person or anything negotiable in the 
shape of worldly station. A great bore. My senti- 
ments were all for pressing on with the added thrill of 
danger. 

The roads here, with the history of Spain cut into 
them, and Indian life flowing ceaselessly over them 
from sea to sea, from north to south, are inexpressibly 
appealing. They are like a string, holding the beads 
of Mexican Hfe together, and what ' ' a rosary of the road " 
the glories and sorrows of their history would make! 
I don't feel the literary call, however. My life is run 
in another mold. But I have undergone a violent and 
probably permanent impression of this race, this coun- 

^ Gulf of California. 
129 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

try — its past, its present, its uncertain future, and oh, 
its beauty! 

October 3d. 

You can't tell an election from a revolution here. It's 
all lively to a degree. I have now seen both. 

Madero has been duly elected, and the streets rang 
all night to vivas for him. Groups were passing con- 
tinually up and down the Paseo, spilHng into Calle Hum- 
boldt. Many students were among them and Latin- 
American youth seemed at its noisiest. There were 
some decided expressions of other political opinions, 
voiced largely in the now accustomed sound of Pino- 
no-no-no, but the Madero tide will doubtless wash him 
into the vice-presidency. It's quite irresistible. 

Madame de la B. was among my callers to-day, smiling 
and handsomely gowned in a new French dress. Of 
course, she gave no hint of what she thinks about the 
situation. She and her husband go abroad after Madero's 
inauguration, now set for November 20th. The Presi- 
dent is finally to take the thanks of the Mexican govern- 
ment to the King of Italy for the special mission sent to 
represent him at the Centenario of 19 10 — which seems 
as remote as the landing of Cortes. 

There is no provision for heating in any of the houses 
here. They tell me that in December and January, if 
a norte is blowing at Vera Cruz, one is almost congealed 
in Mexico City. 

Even now the late afternoons and evenings are cold, 
but there is a glorious warm sun every day till the 
afternoon rains begin, and all the Indians in the city, 
come out from quien sabe where, are warming and drying 
themselves on curb and bench and against sunny walls 
all over town. I suppose it is the only moment of com- 
fort they have. Often now, instead of rain, there is 

130 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

the most gorgeous banking of heavy, dark clouds, with 

hints of orange, red, and purple linings. 

October 5th. 

Just returned from Madame de la B.'s reception. She 
does the "first lady in the land" very well. The Presi- 
dent came in later, to the sound of the national anthem. 
He is of infinite tact in these strange days. He was clad, 
as usual, in an immaculate gray frock-coat, and showed 
no trace of the Procrustean bed he sleeps in. All his 
Cabinet were there and the Corps Diplomatique, and 
several well-set-up competent brothers, who, doubtless, 
will get some sort of foreign post. After all, I am rather 
a believer in nepotism, not too exaggerated. But if one 
does not do for one's own, who will? 

De la Barra has been a sort of suspension-bridge be- 
tween Diaz and Madero, and that he and the republic 
are still "suspended" is testimony indeed. The dis- 
banding of the famous Liberating Army, financially 
and morally, continues to be the great difficulty, as from 
it have sprung all these flowers of banditry whose roots 
lie too deep, apparently, for plucking. 

I met, at the reception, Don Alberto Garcia Granados, 
an elderly man of long political experience, with a clever, 
perspicacious look, accentuated by deep lines above the 
prominent brows, showing that his eyes had often been 
raised in surprise or remonstrance. He is a great friend 
of De la Barra, and resembles statesmen I have met 
in other climes. He is now Minister of Gobernaci6n 
(Interior).^ 

I had a luncheon to-day for Mrs. Wilson and her sister, 

^ The final fate of Don Alberto Garcia Granados, also Minister of 
Gobernacion in Madero's Cabinet, was to be taken by Carranzistas to 
the Escuela de Tir and there shot. He was ill in bed when the summons 
came, and it is recorded that he was given salt injections and tied to a 
post to make it possible for him to stand before the firing-squad, which 
achieved the death of the aged statesman only after several volleys. 

10 131 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

Mrs. Collins, who look very well together — handsome, 
slim-figured, small-footed, carefully dressed women. The 
table was really charming, with heaps of yellow chrys- 
anthemums. The dining-room is sun-flooded, fiower- 
vistaed whichever way you look, and its pale-yellow 
walls, and good old pieces of porcelain in handsome 
old cabinets, and fine old engravings on the wall, all 
picked up as occasion offered by the Seegers during 
their long Mexican.years, take the light most charmingly. 

Baroness Riedl, Madame Lie, Madame Chermont, 
and some American friends, Mrs. McLaren, Mrs. Kil- 
vert, and Mrs. Harwood made up the guests. There 
are several menus that the cook produces very well, and 
Elena and Cecilia serve quietly and quickly, in neat 
black dresses, white aprons, cuffs, and collars. 

Some vigilance is needed as to their collars. They 
loathe them in their souls, being of the casual, rebozo 
race, after all, and though they bow to this especial in- 
evitable, I imagine it comes hard. 

I don't often penetrate to the kitchen regions; I 
couldn't change anything if I wanted to, and I am 
not endowed with culinary talents. But I did see, as I 
passed through not long ago, fish being broiled on the 
beloved brasero, which the cook was fanning with the 
beloved turkey wing. 

One can't change the washing processes, either. Some 
time ago Gabrielle noted holes appearing in all our new 
linen. I told her to investigate and let me know the 
result, which she did. I then ascended to the roof from 
which all creation, lovely Mexican creation, is stretched 
out to view, and the linen floats in the purest, bluest 
ether. 

I found the twowasherwomen sittingon their haunches, 
pounding and rubbing the linen between stones. I let 
them know I thought washboards were what the situa- 

132 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

tion required, but no signs of enthusiasm were visible. 
They told me, with an air of complete finality, es el sol 
(it is the sun) , when I pointed out various a'nd obvious 
signs of damage. 

Just sent off an Atlantic Monthly with a most interest- 
ing contribution, "Within the Pale," by a young Russian 
Jewess, Mary Antin. I haven't been seeing the Atlantic 
for some years and I am glad they keep their good old 
historic cover instead of allowing themselves to be 
seduced by art nouveau, with the usual dreadful 
consequences. 

Elim is climbing all over me as I write. He has 
been promised a cat by the drug-store clerk, but, fort- 
unately, there has been some hitch in the proceedings. 
You know my feelings toward the felines. Elim can 
fling the quien sahes and the mananas with the best of 
them, and evidently takes in Spanish through the pores; 
he is very little or not at all with the Mexican servants. 

He told me the other day that he could count better 
in Spanish than in English, and when I asked him to 
show me he did very well up to four, which he replaced 
by the word "pulque," getting quite argumentative. I 
thought it worth while to investigate the intricacies of 
the infant mind. I find four is simply the magic hour 
when the cook leans over the raiHng and sings out 
"pulque" to call the expectant concierge contingent up- 
stairs, for its afternoon refreshment, as fixed as the 
laws that govern the hours. 

Saturday noon. 

Just home from the volador (thieves' market), with 
"goods" upon me. Toward the end of the week it gets 
increasingly aromatic, as it is only swept and garnished 
Saturday afternoon, and it is traditional and expedient 
for the foreigner to patronize it on the Sabbath rather 
than other days. But having been to "La Joya," a very 

133 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

nice and expensive antique-shop in the Avenida San 
Francisco, where I got a frame of dark wood with ivory 
inlay, just the size for my Ravell photograph of the 
Church at Guanajuato, also a love of a little tortoise- 
shell petaca (miniature valise) with silver clampings, I 
thought to strike an average in prices at the volador, 
where the sun was shining brilliantly on purely Indian 
commercial life. 

The "commerce" consisted more than usual, it seemed 
to me, of the refuse of ages, collected under irregular 
rows of booths, canvas- or board-covered, or simply 
piled on spaces marked out on the uncomfortable, hot 
cobblestones. It all covers what once was the site of 
the new Palace of Montezuma, and is named volador 
after a sort of Aztec gymnastic game. For a long time 
it belonged to the heirs of Cortes, from whom the city 
finally bought it, and it is close behind the Palacio. 

As I entered the gate there was the usual collection 
of Indians of all sizes and colors, but with the same 
destinies. Many were passing by with their huacales 
(crates) filled with bananas and oranges and various 
green things, for near by is the great fruit-market of the 
city. Some women were selling long plaited strings of 
onions, and by the gate was standing a superior-looking 
individual with a stick twice as high as himself, on which 
were stuck white, pink, and blue toy birds. 

Instead of abandoning hope as one goes through these 
portals, one finds oneself immensely expectant, one's 
eyes darting hither and thither in search of treasure, the 
eternal something for nothing! 

Mexico is called the land of the sombrero (hat), but 
when I go to the volador I feel it should be called the 
land of the candlestick. There are so many candle- 
sticks in every variety of shape and kind, and occa- 
sionally of great beauty. 

134 




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DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

I was made "perfectly" happy by the discovery of 
two tiny bronze braseros, somewhat in the form of Roman 
lamps — such as were filled with coals and placed on 
tables to light cigarettes from in the old days. I also got 
a large engraved pulque-glass, most lovely for flowers. 

At one booth an experienced vendeuse pulled from her 
rebozoed bosom a small velvet case, containing a brooch 
of flat, uncut diamonds; but as, at the same time, I 
distinctly saw spring from that abode of treasure a very 
large specimen of the flea family, I came home without 
investigating further. 

I have some beautiful books on Mexico which have 
been given me by various people — mostly large, heavy 
books, — Lumholz's Unknown Mexico, and Starr's Indian 
Mexico are the last, — or I would send them, that you 
might share more completely my Mexican etape. It 
has been a strange summer, taking it all in all. 

Madero probably comes in on the loth of November. 
It makes one's head swim to think of the mighty changes 
that are taking place all over the world. Haughty old 
China a republic! — and Mexico to be governed solely 
by brotherly love! And a free press and nobody to 
desire to continue in office ! In other words, all to resign 
and many to die. 

In church to-day the beautiful blue bag you gave me 
was stolen. I remember two women in deep mourning, 
black rebozos twisted about their heads, kneeling devoutly 
in the pew just behind me. The theft must have occurred 
at the moment of the "elevation," because when I rose 
from my knees both the bag and the black-robed devo- 
tees had disappeared. I had, fortunately, just left the 
Louis XV. watch at the jewelers', or that, too, would 
have gone. 

Madame Lefaivre returned several days ago after a 
mouvemente trip, as the Espagne went on the rocks at 

135 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

Santander. Mr. Seeger gave a little dejeuner for her at 
the Auto Club. The day was heavenly, and the sky as 
clean as if it had been pounded between the stones the 
washerwomen use on my roof. Everything was at its 
greenest. 

After the season of rains the flowers, the grass, the 
trees, emerge as if new-bom. I felt, sitting on the ter- 
race of the club, on the border of the little artificial lake, 
as if I were in a loge at the theater, as if the scene might 
at any moment be shifted, the black and white swans 
be removed, the water turned off, ourselves go off the 
stage, leaving only the changeless background of beauti- 
ful hills and diamond-powdered volcanoes. 

I like Madame Lefaivre so much, trds dame du monde. 
The usual banalities of the carrier e having gone through 
with, I feel sure we'll soon begin the regular business of 
friendship. She had on a pale-gray dress, which toned 
in with her gray hair and fresh complexion. She and 
Mr. Lefaivre were engaged for nearly fifteen years be- 
fore Hfe cleared itself sufficiently of obstacles, of one kind 
or another, for them to marry. 

De la Barra sails the 23d of next month for Italy. I 
think it illustrative of his tact and good will to subtract 
himself completely from the very complicated situation, 
and to let his intention be known beforehand and reck- 
oned with. Madame de la B . receives for the last time 
on Thursday next. In the evening there is a dinner at 
the Embassy, and on Saturday the German minister 
gives one of his big dinners. This seems all very simple, 
even banal, but few things are simple and nothing banal 
when played out against a Mexican background. 

October 2gth. 

The political mills here are grinding fast, and not 
particularly fine. The Minister of War has been 

136 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

impeached, and President de la B. is resigning, not even 
waiting till the legal term of office (November 30th) 
expires. 

Nightly, crowds continue to parade the streets, singing, 
"Pino-no-no-no," though "Pino" has been duly elected 
Vice-President according to the "angelical returns from 
that temple of liberty and love, the polling-box," as one 
of the unconvinced deputies called the process. 

Zapata has been at the gates of the city and, with 
eight hundred men, allowed to pillage near-by towns. 

Indeed, there has been a public outcry against the 
suspicious vitality of the Zapata movement. There are 
those who say that the "Attila of the South" and the 
President-elect are muy amigo, and that if that General 
Huerta I wrote of had a really free hand he would, with 
his energetic methods, have long since solved that special 
problem. 

The Minister of War, Gonzalez Salas, has stirred up a 
hornet's nest by saying that in three days after becoming 
President Madero would strangle the Zapata movement. 
Of course the clever deputies — and there are many of 
them — are clamoring to know what is the divine word, 
the sesamo supremo, that he can pronounce to suddenly 
put an end to the horrors of banditry, and if there is 
such a word, why it wasn't pronounced earlier. 

The inauguration is now set for the 6 th. It has been 
whispered that it wouldn't be wise to wait. One of the 
deputies, in his harangue against Zapata and the pos- 
sible high protection he enjoys, winds up a decidedly dis- 
enchanted speech, as far as Madero is concerned, by 
crying, "Robespierre" (meaning the "Apostle"), "re- 
member that Danton also was popular!" Maderistas 
and Pinistas, Reyistas, Vazquistas, Zapatistas say what 
they like about one another, and it certainly gives the 
foreigner an idea of the riches of Spanish epithet. 

137 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

Those two children of democracy, "freedom of the 
press" and "no re-election," have seen the light of day 
with infinite difficulty in various parts of South America. 
To be present at their first struggling breaths in Mexico 
is most instructing. I must say they seem to be babies 
of the noisy, wakeful sort, and don't care who or what 
they disturb. 

A diplomatic dinner is announced at the Foreign Ofiice 
for Sunday, the fifth of November. 

Elim. is waiting to blot bonne maman's letter, so I must 
close. He is clasping the famous cow Mrs. Townsend 
gave him two years ago. It has resisted all assaults, all 
displacements, and is still the best beloved. Three hoofs, 
a horn, and all its trappings are gone, but it is still a 
"fine animal." He has just said, "I am so glad on my 
mama, ' ' so you see his English is progressing. We have 
come from a morning walk in beautiful Chapultepec 
park with Baroness R. He loves to pick the wild flow- 
ers or run over the grass with his butterfly-net. The 
whole park is a garden of children as well as green things. 

Yesterday a considerable portion of the festive Corps 
Diplomatique, in its European branches, was poisoned 

with mushrooms at the Legation. Reports began 

to come in, disquieting at first ; but it became a scream- 
ing farce when it was discovered that no one was going 
to die, except probably the galopina at the aforesaid 
Legation. 

I am sending a post-card to-day of the Hotel del Jardin. 
As you will see, it is a place for a lot of "local color." 
Unfortunately they are building over half the old garden 
with newfangled high constructions. Sir Fairfax Cart- 
wright ^ stopped there ten years ago. With its big rooms 
opening on the veranda facing the garden, it was, in the 
old days, the favorite resting-spot of travelers and 

^ British ambassador to Vienna at the time of writing. 
138 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

arriving diplomats, and a vast improvement on the color- 
less, uncomfortable, "modem" hotels which spring up 
like mushrooms, and are about as permanent. At the 
Hotel del Jardin the cozy fashion still prevails of having 
the partitions between the bedrooms reach up only half- 
way. 

But the old order is certainly changing. In what 
was once the vast area of the Franciscan church and 
monastery, built by Fray Pedro de Gante, where schools 
flourished, and councils took place during several hun- 
dred years, now arise great, steel-framed office-buildings 
on the "American plan." 

In the old days the Church of San Francisco was 
entered from the street of San Juan de Letran, in which 
the Hotel del Jardin is. The monastery, seminaries, etc., 
were suppressed, in 1856, by Comonfort. Since then the 
ground has been steadily cut up into streets and for city 
buildings, until only the Church of San Francisco itself 
remains, with its perfectly charming facade, entered 
immediately from the busy Avenida San Francisco, 
through a little palm-planted garden with a broad, flag- 
stoned walk. It was once the most important church in 
Mexico, but now its large spaces are empty of treasures 
and worshipers, and the strong light coming through 
the lantern of the dome shines in on bare walls. The 
tide of worship of our day sets to San Felipe next door. 
Cortes heard mass in San Francisco, it is said, and there 
his bones were laid in 1629, the date of the splendid 
interment of his last descendant, Don Pedro Cortes. 

This was the occasion of a gorgeous military and 
religious procession headed by the Archbishop of Mexico, 
The coffin containing the Conqueror's body was en- 
veloped in a great black-velvet pall, borne by the judges 
of the royal tribunal. On either side was a man in a 
suit of mail. One bore a banner of sable velvet, on which 

139 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

was blazoned the escutcheon of Cortes. The other car- 
ried a standard of shining white, with the arms of Castile 
in gold. The viceroy and the members of his court fol- 
lowed, in splendid array, with an escort of soldiers, their 
arms reversed and banners trailing, all moving to the 
beat of muffled drums. 

In 1794, the body of Cortes was removed to the 
hospital of Jesus Nazareno, one of his foundations, in a 
crystal case with crossbars and rivetings of silver, also in 
solemn state, under the greatest of the viceroys, Revilla- 
gigedo. 

In Cortes's most interesting and very human will he' 
had ordered that wherever he might die, his body was 
to be laid to final rest in the convent at his beloved 
Coyoacan. His bare bones, however, seem as restless as 
when clothed with living flesh, and after his death in 
Spain, when his remains were brought back to Mexico, 
the authorities placed them first in the Church of San 
Francisco at Texcoco, where his mother and one of his 
daughters lay. Now there is no certain record of their 
resting-place. Does not romance and tragedy hang 
about it all? 

A long letter comes from Marget Oberndorff. Her 
husband has just been appointed to Norway, and they 
are thankful to be in Europe for their first ministry. 



XII 



Dia de Muertos — Indian booths — President de la Barra relinquislies 
his high office — Dinner at the Foreign Office — Historic Mexican 
streets — Madero takes the oath 

Dia de Muertos, November 2d. 

THE black-hung churches and the streets are full of 
those mindful of their dead. I, too, of my "dead in 
life" as well, thinking how of such are the Kingdom of 
Heaven. 

I went to the little Church of Corpus Cristi, opposite 
the Alameda, walking through the booths the Indians 
have spread there since generations, during three days 
at this season. It's all as picturesque and busy as possi- 
ble, and of an informality as regards family life. 

I bought some really lovely baskets, and a bright- 
eyed little Indian boy, belonging to some dull-eyed 
parents, took home for me a lot of the fragile pottery. 
Some of it is very decorative — soft grays with red and 
black designs, polished greens with flowers in two tints, 
and a black-lustered ware with ornamentations of scrolls 
and figures. I selected quite a menagerie of tiny animals, 
very perfectly modeled in clay and brittle to a degree, as 
passing as the hands that made them. 

There were "toys" in the shape of small coffins, black 
or white, skeletons, devils of various f rightfulness, even 
funeral cars in miniature. At one corner, as a last touch 
of memento mori, an Indian was offering candy coffins, 
which seemed to have quite a run. 

141 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

I am writing at the Country Club, which is a most 
lovely spot at all times, but now is wrapped in a con- 
tinual, superlative Indian summer, Elim said to me the 
first thing this morning, "Oh, I do love dat gontry 
clove," so here I am with him. He met me with Gabrielle, 
outside of the Church of Corpus Cristi, on the Alameda. 

That church has a curious history. Though now 
shrunken and tawdry, it was one of the most important 
and gorgeous in the viceregal days, and had a convent 
attached to it for Indian maidens of patrician birth. 
There is an old memorial over the door recording that 
it was inaugurated under the 36 th viceroy, Don Baltazar 
de Zuniga, for the daughters of Christian caciques alone. 
For the ceremonial of the taking of the veil the most 
gorgeous of Indian costumes were worn — feather-work 
mantles, aigrettes sewn with pearls and emeralds, and 
underneath- wrappings of fine cotton. 

Now the treasures of the convent are dissipated to 
the four winds, and as for the patrician maidens, ou sont 
les roses d'Antanf The only thing of interest remaining 
in the church is an old copy of a picture of Nuestra Senora 
del Sagrario, from the Toledo Cathedral, supposed to 
have been taken to the Rio Grande by the venturesome 
hidalgo, Juan de Onate, being brought back to Mexico 
City only after a couple of centuries of travel and 
vicissitude. 

The veranda of the club-house looks toward the 
shining volcanoes and the blue, blue hills, their beauty 
indescribably enhanced, seen through the brilliant glass- 
like air. The house itself, in the Spanish-mission style, 
is very fine, and the links the most beautiful of many I 
have watched and waited on. There are eighteen holes, 
with a favorite "nineteenth" in the cantina. Some of 
the mounds over which the golfers play are the graves 
of those who fell in 1847. General Scott approached 

142 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

the capital from Vera Cruz by way of Puebla, and there 
was a big battle on what is now the golf links, then the 
Hacienda de la x Niatividad, and the near-by church and 
monastery of Churubusco. There is, facing the very 
colorful and interesting old monastery, built by the 
Franciscans in the seventeenth century, a colorless, unin- 
teresting monument, put up by President Comonfort 
in memory of the Mexicans who lost their lives here, and 
there are occasional ceremonies "in memoriam" by a 
grateful country. 

November 3d. 

Yesterday I ended by staying at the club all day and 
having dinner there. Elim was taken home, and N. came 
out after chancery hours. It was a beautiful and peaceful 
day, and we drove back about nine o clock, under a 
young moon. As we got into town, there seemed more 
than the usual number of little booths, dimly lighted 
by small hanging lanterns, the owners and their progeny 
sitting about. 

How large families can live on the proceeds of these 
small stands is a mystery. Everything is dust-covered, 
handled and rehandled, cut into small bits and then into 
still smaller ones. I always marvel at the self-restraint 
that prevents the Indians from falling on their own 
goods and devouring them. 

One drives over what was once an Aztec causeway, 
through a squalid suburb, San Antonio de Abad, to get 
back into town, where the day of the dead was celebrated 
by an unusually lively attendance at the pulque-shops. 
That licor divino had so incapacitated an Indian ly- 
ing on the road that we nearly lost our lives in the 
sudden swerve the chauffeur made to avoid running 
over him. 

There are numberless accidents to Indians, falling on 
the third rail of the tramways running out the Tlalpan 

143 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

road, though it is wired off. When you look into the 
awful pink and blue dens, and smell the still more awful 
smell of the licor divino, and see the Indians saddened 
and melancholy, or suddenly wild and completely irre- 
sponsible, coming out of La Encantadora, Las Emociones, 
or El Homhre Perdido,^ 3/ou realize that the maguey is, 
indeed, bound up with the destiny of the Mexican nation. 
As we passed through the Calle de Flamencos, the 
celebrated palace of the Conde de Santiago seemed once 
more splendid, rising above the squalor of the pulque- 
shops. It was built by a cousin of Cortes, immediately 
after the Conquest, in what was then a noble quarter 
of the town. Later, when the Conde de Santiago bought 
it, he surrounded it by a beautiful park, known as the 
Parque del Conde. Now in the great courtyard, alas! 
only merchandise of a tenth-rate quality is stored and 
old trucks encumber and disfigure it. There is a ma- 
jestic stairway, seen through a wide, carved entrance 
still possessing its antique wooden doors of some won- 
derful resisting wood from the Hot Country. The roof- 
line is just as good as the rest, for great stone gargoyles, 
representing half-cannon, show themselves against the 
sky. There is a huge Aztec corner-stone of a single 
piece, representing a tiger, which tradition says was 
placed there by Cortes himself. It is the sort of house 
the government ought to buy; in this dry climate, 
properly preserved, it would be good for a thousand 
years.* 

November 5th. 

Yesterday an event unique in the troubled political 
history of Mexico took place. President de la Barra 

1 The Enchantress. The Emotions. The Lost Man. 

2 The Casa de Manrique in the Calle Donceles is another example of old 
seigniorial houses. It belonged to the Conde de Heras, and was built 
late in the seventeenth century. Now, alas, it is the office of the Wells 
Fargo Express Co., but there is a note of protesting splendor about it. 

144 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

calmly read the report of his incumbency before the 
Chamber of Deputies and as calmly relinquished his 
high office. 

About five o'clock I drove down the Avenida San 
Francisco, already brilliantly illuminated, though great 
bands of red still hung in the sky behind Chapultepec. 
The crowd was immense, the streets flagged, and there 
were squads of mounted police keeping order, and sounds 
of drum and clarion. Shouts of, "Viva de la Barra," 
"Viva el Presidente Blanco," mingled with various 
expressions of satisfaction, not unmixed, I imagine, 
with surprise, that the high power could be relinquished 
in so orderly a manner, and that a President could or 
would give accounting of his office. A hint of the 
millennium. 

November 5th, 10.30. 

We are just home from the big dinner offered to-night 
by Carbajal y Rosas to the members of the Corps Diplo- 
matique and contiguous Mexican officials. The Foreign 
Office is, as you know, in the Plaza at the head of our 
street, and it was a blaze of light as we approached. 

The music of a magnificent military band in gala 
uniform — the Mexican brass is most inspiring — was 
echoing through the patio and halls as we went up the 
broad stairs, flower- and palm-banked and covered with 
a thick, red carpet, into the big rooms on the first floor 
overlooking the Plaza. 

Here the various officials, according to their rank, 
have their offices — handsome rooms, with large pieces 
of Louis XV. furniture done up in blue and gold, and 
some paintings of Juarez, Diaz, and others. It was 
almost too brilliantly illuminated, with great festoons of 
green and white and red electric bulbs, in addition to 
the usual lighting. All were out in their bravest. Mrs. 
Wilson had on a white-and-gold satin gown, that she 

145 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

had worn at court in Brussels, and I wore the pink-velvet 
brocade I had for the Buda-Pesth court ball. 

This sounds very magnificent, but when the time came 
to move into the banqueting-room and a personage 
much more richly gowned than any of us dream of being 
approached to give me his arm, a grin overspread the 
faces of the chers collegues near by. It was the Chinese 
minister, in the most beautiful lavender-and-gold cos- 
tume I have ever seen. Useless to compete with the 
Celestials, when they are really in form. On his gor- 
geous arm, feeling decidedly diminished, I went to the 
great'front hall where a long, narrow banquet-table was 
spread. Some official, a small, dark, youngish man, who 
did not speak English, or French, or German, or any- 
thing in which I could lightly communicate, was on the 
other side. 

I had a chance to "choose" between Spanish or 
Chinese, and, being under the necessity of saying some- 
thing, began with my Mexican friend about the weather, 
which you get through with quickly here at this season 
when it is always fine. Then the conversation got onto 
the usual subject of ninos (children). He said, with the 
air of one not having yet abandoned hope, that he had 
only nine. I asked, thoughtlessly, what was the distance 
between their ages, and he answered, quite simply: ''El 
tiempo regular'' — ten months." 

After the repast, which began with bouchees Rom- 
anojff and finished with coupes d la Bresilienne, touching 
delicately at other international points, there was more 
or less talking, with presentations to various persons of 
the incoming regime — surprised-looking ladies in high- 
necked gowns, and eager-looking men. We disbanded 
about ten o'clock to the sound of more really gorgeous 
martial music echoing through the big patio, stepping 
across the plaza to our house in a great flood of moon- 

146 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

light. The ' ' Iron Horse, ' ' the bronze equestrian statue of 
Charies IV., giving the note of other times and other 
rulers, was shining with a dim radiance, Humboldt 
found it in the Plaza Mayor in 1803, vis-a-vis the cathe- 
dral and the palace of the viceroys, set in a large space 
paved in squares of porphyry, inclosed by a richly orna- 
mented, bronze-gilt railing and placed on a pedestal of 
Mexican marble. Thirty-five years afterward Madame 
Calderon de la Barca, in 1838, found it in the court- 
yard of the university. Now I find it in the Plaza de 
la Reforma, and an excellent spot it is, if they will only 
leave it there, instead of trotting it about the town. It 
is placed where one can see Chapultepec Castle at the 
end of the Paseo, where one can look down the broad 
Calle Bucareli — still named after that enlightened viceroy 
(they periodically change the names of the streets here), 
and which in its day was one of the most beautiful 
avenues in the city, having a large fountain, with a gilt 
statue, where now we have a very ugly clock-tower on 
artificial stucco stones. The whole street was planted 
with beautiful trees, which modem claptrappy houses 
have crowded out. It now ends in the dusty, trolley- 
laid, modern avenue of Chapultepec. 

The Calle de Resales, a short street of handsome 
dwellings mostly of the epoch of Calle Humboldt, gives 
another vista looking toward San Fernando and San 
Hipolito; down still another one can see the iron frame 
of the new Palacio Legislative, planned to cost ten 
million pesos. Work has lagged on it since the Diaz 
government was overthrown, and experts are beginning 
to say that the great iron frame, so long exposed to rain 
and air, is corroding. 

Now I must put out my light, a poor thing, anyway. 
There is a shaft of moonHght on the wall, a "purest ray 
serene," that shames it. 
11 147 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

November 6th, Inauguration Day. 

Just home from the Camara, where Madero took his 
oath of office. Immense crowds were thickly formed 
about the building, and among the vivas for Madero 
were growls, here and there, of "Abajo los gringos."^ 
A few mounted rurales only were out, the "Messiah of 
the peons" having put the crowd on its honor. 

I went with Mrs. Wilson in the Embassy motor, which 
came back for us after having deposited the ambassador 
and his staff at the Palace in evening clothes, where the 
gentlemen of the Corps Diplomatique were assembled to 
take leave of President de la Barra before coming on 
for the inaugural ceremonies at the Chamber. 

We arrived on the scene to find the little plaza in front 
of the Chamber solidly packed, and the steps leading to 
the doors presenting a conglomeration of peaked hats 
and zarapes, interposed with black coats and "derbys." 
We finally got out of the motor at a side door, to the 
sound of more "abajos,'' and once within, it really 
seemed very comfortable to be sheltered from the noise 
and the various potentialities of the crowd. 

A big, solemn-faced Indian growled, "a6a/c>," as I 
tripped from the motor, but when I answered him, ' ' Viva 
Mexico, " his face lighted up in a most friendly way. 
They need so little to change their moods, and that is 
one of the dangers here. The wife of the Japanese 
minister said she had to fight her way in. Her sleeve 
was torn and her hair dishevelled, and she looked as if 
she had given battle. 

A door, wide open, led from the room where the Corps 
Diplomatique laid off their wraps, into a very large one, the 
office of the Protocol, where there were great sealed bundles 
of ballots bearing the postmarks of the towns whence they 
had been shipped — ^unopened, uncounted, intact. 

^ Down with the gringos. 
148 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

It appears the "counters" got discouraged early in 
the game; there were so many ballots having no con- 
nection with 191 1, such as that of Hidalgo (executed in 
181 1), Benito Juarez (dead in his bed in 1872), and 
unknown names of various jefes politicos in various 
remote places, with an occasional bit of unexpected color 
appearing in the way of remembrances of favorite 
bull-fighters. 

Well, Madero, the man of promises, is President of 
Mexico, and what difficulties lie before him! After 
taking his oath, in a firm voice, he ended the speech 
which followed, rather suddenly, by saying if he did not 
keep his promises they could send him away. 

The extreme pallor of his face was accented by his 
pointed, black beard, already the delight of the cari- 
caturists, but his mien was grave and his gestures were 
unusually few. Across his breast was the red, white, and 
green sash, the visible sign of the dream come true. 

I could not but ask myself, as I looked about the vast 
assemblage and heard the roar of the Indian throngs 
outside, what have they had to prepare themselves for 
political liberty after our pattern? But then, you know, 
I have always had a natural inclination for the strong 
hand and one head. Uapp^tit vient en mangeant, and a 
taste for revolutions may be like a taste for anything 
else. Many of these millions have nothing to lose, and 
hope, mixed with desire, is rampant during the periods 
of upheavals. 

Some sort of a new day is rising in Mexico, but 
Madero would seem to be President, not because he is 
a good and honest man and a well-wisher to all, but 
simply because he is a successful revolutionary leader, 
and what has been can be. There was, however, a 
general effect of everybody patting himself on the back. 
Were they not seeing, for the first time in their history, 

149 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

the high power relinquished without bloodshed? I 
fancy they felt quite like "folks" as the "Presidente 
Blanco" gave it over to the Apostol with nothing 
redder and warmer than a handshake. 

The town was brilliant under the perfect sky, and the 
green-and-white-and-red flag of the Tres Garantias 
(Three Guarantees) waved from every building. It 
bears within its folds the history of Mexico since its 
adoption in 1823. The white represents religious purity, 
red symbolizes the union of Mexicans and Spaniards in 
the bonds of brotherly love, and green is for independence. 

Iturbide's army was called "the army of the Tres 
Garantias,'" the colors then running horizontally from 
the staff. After Iturbide was shot they changed the 
stripes to the present vertical arrangement. From my 
rather ciu-sory glance at Mexican history it would seem 
that governments have always come into power here 
through revolutions. It seems the normal thing, the 
inevitable, preordained way for men to come into power, 
but, that being the case, they ought to take it a little 
more quietly. Of course, for a pure Aryan like myself 
it's startling, it's disconcerting to a degree !^ 

November 7th. 

Late yesterday afternoon ex-President de la Barra, 

accompanied by his family and the staff of his mission, 

left for Vera Cruz to take La Champagne for France, en 

route to Rome. There was a great demonstration at his 

departure. The Corps Diplomatique was out in full 

force, and all Mexico besides, it seemed, as we got down 

to the station, around which mounted soldiery with 

* Every government, since the days of the viceroys, appointed in- 
exorably but quietly from Spain, has come into power like the govern- 
ment of Huerta or Madero or Diaz, through a revolution by a military 
coup. No foreign ruler till our day thought it a reason for bringing 
the whole nation to ruin. 

ISO 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

difficulty kept a free space, pressing the crowd back to 
let in the carriages and motors, one by one. 

The most interesting thing about it all, to me, was 
the group that at one time formed itself on the rear 
platform of the special train — President Madero, ex- 
President de la Barra, and Orozco, the military genius 
of the moment, the type of the trio so distinct as they 
stood there. Orozco is a very tall man, head and 
shoulders over the other two, the northern Mexico 
ranchero type — prominent nose, high cheek bones, with 
a dark mustache that doesn't at all conceal a cruel, 
determined mouth. 

De la Barra, international, immaculately dressed, 
suave, smiling, was entirely the diplomat departing on 
a special mission, showing no trace of the difficult and 
anxious months of office. 

Between these two stood the President of but a few 
hours, with his broad, high, speculative forehead, his 
dreamy, impractical eyes and kindly smile — "one man 
with a dream at pleasure." 

Madero is naturally generous toward his enemies, of 
which the crops, however, hourly increase. He is 
averse to shedding blood, but I sigh for the difficulties of 
his position, between various upper and nether mill- 
stones, with the destinies of fifteen millions of people 
like to be ground between. 

All the revolucionarios who came in with him seem to 
have dreamed some of his vague dreams, to which they 
add, however, very determined desires to settle in com- 
fortable nests built by others on the extraordinarily 
simple plan of "see a home, take it." The upper 
classes, what little one sees of them, shake their heads, 
cast up their eyes, and throw out their hands. It's all 
very uncertain, but most interesting to a lady from the 
temperate zone. 

151 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

We would all have liked to see De la B. Vice-President 
instead of ''Pino-no-no-no." It might have steadied 
things, especially abroad, but "might have been" should 
be the Mexican device. For some reason I felt saddened 
as the train moved out in the twilight, leaving the In- 
dian world to darkness and Madero. 



XIII 

Uprising in Juchitan — Madero receives his first delegation — The Ameri- 
can arrest of Reyes — Chapultepec Park — Side lights on Juchitan 
troubles — Zapata's Plan de Ayala 

November 8th. 

I WAS planning to start for Tehuantepec to-morrow, 
when a letter came from Aunt L. saying that the 
general in charge of the Federal troops was giving 
orders to his army from her porch, the Pan-American 
Railway was damaged, bridges were destroyed, and 
cannon were being dragged into town by oxen and 
placed in front of her garden. 

Everybody has been going to bed dressed, with papers 
and valuables close by, ready for flight at a moment's 
notice. 

I was disappointed, and would still have carried out 
the program, my heart was ready for her, and things were 
cut off here, but I was obliged to take the advice of 
the ambassador, to whom N. showed the letter, as the 
risk might not be simply personal. There seems a 
fatality about my getting down there. A telegram also 
came from her through Mr. Cummings, always so kind, 
saying for me not to leave till things had quieted down. 

The trouble is in the form of an uprising in the dis- 
trict of Juchitan against the state government (Oaxaca). 
The Governor, Don Benito Juarez (a son of the great 
Juarez, I think), had tried to separate the jefe politico, 
Che Gomez, from his office, a thing not lightly done. 
The result was that the Juchitecos, who dearly love a 
> 153 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

fight, gladly rose with "Che" against the Federals, 
who have been bottled up in the Juchitan church and 
barracks for days with no rest and no food; there must 
have been heavy losses. The firing can be heard from 
San Geronimo. A few soldiers have arrived, but not 
enough for their relief. 

The mother of the army surgeon with the troops is 
staying with Aunt L., and is in the greatest anxiety 
about her son, a fine young man, a typical Spanish 
hidalgo. As long as he could he sent messages, but 
they have had nothing from him for several days, and, 
of course, at any moment the Federals may be wiped 
out. There are at least three thousand Indians against 
a couple of hundred "regulars." 

The government has sent down more troops. Two 
brigades went this morning, the Foreign Office announces, 
and "order is expected shortly in Oaxaca and on the 
Isthmus." There is already a general undertone of 
pessimism about Mexico in general and the new regime 
in particular. 

The first delegation Madero received yesterday was 
the Society for Occult Sciences, followed by something 
even more tangibly intangible, the spiritualistic society. 
It makes one gasp. He will need all the help he can get 
to grapple with the situation here, but one has one's 
doubts about the spirits being consecutively and ex- 
clusively occupied with the destinies of Mexico, which 
seem to need the iron hand of flesh — and not in any 
glove, either 

Last night we dined at the new Chilian minister's, 
Hevia de Riquelme. Mr. Wilson was seven years in 
Chili as minister at the time Senor Riquelme held a 
Cabinet position, and has a great affection for him. 
They have just come from Japan. The dinner was very 
elaborate and expensive, and afterward we danced in 

154 




Photograph by Ravell 



XOCHIMILCO 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

the large hall and in and out of the big salons. Mrs. 
Wilson looked lovely in a white-lace dress with pale- 
blue touches, and seemed to reappear again as she 
might have been when she was the mother of babes in 
ChiH, rather than of these grown sons in Mexico. 

November nth. 

News this morning from the Isthmus is still more dis- 
quieting. Many buildings were dynamited in Juchitan, 
and many people were killed that way as well as by 
bullets and machetes. The wounded are being brought 
into San G. for treatment, as when some doctors of the 
White Cross arrived on the scene from Salina Cruz the 
Juchitecos refused to allow them to enter the town. 

The splendid young Doctor Arguello was assassinated 
by the rebels while going the rounds of a hospital in 
Juchitan, where he was treating their wounded. His 
mother has lain moaning, "Mi hijo! mi hijo!" for twenty- 
four hours, and refusing all comfort. The new jefe, 
the tax-collector, and other "instruments of the law" 
were killed. This is how the inauguration of Madero 
was celebrated on the Isthmus of Tehuantepec. For- 
tunately San G. is loyal and could be a refuge for the 
peaceful inhabitants of other towns. General Merodia 
is there with four thousand troops. 

November 14th. 

Yesterday a large afternoon reception was held at the 
Foreign Office by Calero, now Minister of Foreign 
Affairs, and who has, incidentally, a great understand- 
ing of the United States. He presented his pretty wife 
formally to the Corps Diplomatique. She is delicate- 
looking, and life with Calero, with his ambitions and 
rather American strenuosity, will keep her going at 
quite a pace. The handsome rooms are having an un- 
wonted vogue — the second time they are thrown open 

155 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

in a month! Professor Castillo, at the grand piano in 
the big room, vied with the police band stationed in 
the patio. Large American Beauty roses were every- 
where (a delicate tribute, quien sabef), and we stood at 
small buffet tables. 

I was between Riedl and Lie, and though less gor- 
geous to the outward eye, I was more en pays de con- 
naissance than when last I refreshed myself in com- 
pany with the Flowery Kingdom. The nice woman 
reporter from the Mexican Herald minutely inspected 
the women's clothes, as you will see by the clipping I 
send. 

I must get ready for my luncheon to-day. I love to 
do the flowers myself, and a great solid bunch of forget- 
me-nots, a foot and a half across, in the big blue bowl, 
has been lifted onto the table by Elena and Cecilia. 
Bouquets of deepest purple pansies are at each place. 
The sun is flooding the patio, the flowers are blooming 
and shining — enfin all the delights of the tropics! It is 
not without reason that they have a lure. The luncheon 
is for the Riedls. The Lefaivres, von Hintze, Leclerq, 
and others are coming. 

We tried the theater again last night. I had ex- 
pected to go for the Spanish whenever N. had a free 
evening; but, really, I have not the physical strength, 
and last night we were thankful to get out of the bore- 
dom of the interminable entr'actes and the unbreathable 
devitalized air, which at this altitude has an exhausting 
effect unknown at sea level. 

The apuntador read all the parts so loudly, now some- 
times ahead, now sometimes behind the actors, that 
one couldn't decide which to follow, him or the artists, 
and we gave a sigh of relief as we sped out of the city 
toward Tlalpan, beloved of the viceroys. 

An immense white moon, that seemed to lose its 

iS6 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

shape in its own flooding light, was rising over the val- 
ley. Not only the heavens, but the earth irradiated 
light, and we seemed to be motoring through a dully 
brilliant blue-whiteness. The night was dry, with no 
hint of mist, but still a milk3^ ambience that gave an 
effect of gleaming wetness was over all. 

Out of the earth came what seemed to me the psychic 
miasms of nameless but potent and persistent races. 
The Ajusco hills, for reasons known to themselves, were 
dead-black masses as they jetted into the sky, but their 
outlines were scalloped with an indescribable embroidery 
of the same fluid whiteness. I felt a chill sort of magic 
envelop me, penetrating through the thickness of that 
long Viennese motor coat; I was even a little afraid 
with that nameless fear one sometimes has here. I 
think it is the unknown quantities. Everything seems 
to equal X. 

November 20th. 

Reyes has been arrested at San Antonio by a United 
States marshal, charged with violating the neutrality 
laws. He was doing only what Madero did, but what 
is sauce for the gander isn't sauce for the goose. Diaz 
had his Madero, Madero his Reyes. How easy it would 
have been to have made a friend of Reyes, who was the 
idol of the army! 

Madero now talks about crushing all revolutionary 
movements with an iron hand; but his hand, alas! has 
no likeness to iron or anything that can crush. It ap- 
pears that Madero and Reyes made a pact according 
to which each was to have a free hand at the presiden- 
tial nomination. But the Maderistas either got ner- 
vous or impatient, or did not want to take chances, and 
Reyes was persecuted and threatened until he resigned 
his commission in the army and left the country. The 
military element might have been conciliated with 

157 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

Reyes as Minister of War or in some other capacity 
after being defeated at the polls; but that would have 
been by far too reasonable a modus operandi for these 
climes. 

Reyes found himself obliged to withdraw his can- 
didature a few days before the election of Madero, and 
left the country as speedily as he could, among other 
things giving the New York Sun a chance for a gorgeous 
alliterative sentence, "Rebellion, riot, and Reyes mar 
the calm of Madero's Mexico." 

The Simons are very handsomely installed in a house 
on the Paseo, and have sent out cards for a series of 
dinners. We dined there last night. Simon, it ap- 
pears, is a banking genius of incorruptible probity — a 
second Limantour. They have what few here possess, 
a French chef, imported specially. Besides several diplo- 
mats, there were some Frenchmen whom I had not 
met, Armand Delille,^ a banker, and an agreeable man, 
Parmentier.^ In the drawing-room are many photo- 
graphs relating to the Simons' Belgrade etape, an inter- 
esting one of Pasitch's clever old face the Serbian 
Crown Prince, the old King, Countcbc Forgasch, and 
others, who struck the Balkan note. 

The first reception at Chapultepec, where the Maderos 
have taken up permanent habitation, is to be held on 
Friday. 

November 24th. 

Last night there was a brilliant dinner at the Em- 
bassy in honor of Calero, Minister of Foreign Affairs, 
and his wife. I inclose a clipping. Mrs. W. looked 

1 Armand Delille distinguished himself; at the battle of the Yser 
and on the bridge of Steenstraete was decorated with the Legion 
d'Honneur. He was sent to hold it with three hundred men, and 
it was held; but when he was relieved, of the three hundred men 
only thirty remained. 

2 Maurice Parmentier fell at Dieuze, November 28, 1914. 

158 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

very handsome in a white-lace gown with gold-wheat 
embroideries. 

Madame Lefaivre had on a gray gown with her nice 
diamonds, and a beautiful old lace scarf about her 
shoulders. Baroness Riedl wore a clinging yellow dress 
with pearl fringe, and all her war-paint in the shape of 
her pearls and diamonds. After dinner we sat around 
the big, glass-inclosed patio which forms the center of 
the house. 

I had a little talk with Calero. He is astonishingly 
clever. His mind reflects a perfectly clear mental image 
of the facts that come before it, and in any argument he 
is straight to the point. For the rest, it is terra incognita 
to me, though doubtless the land is perfectly charted 
with the roads so necessary for arriving at Latin-Ameri- 
can ends (and not unnecessary to successful politicians 
anywhere) . 

Side-lights on the Juchitan troubles continue most 
interesting and instructive. Che Gomez, the man who 
stirred up the apparently quite-ready inhabitants, is 
part Indian, part negro ("zambo" as this special 
melange is called), and had set his heart on remaining 
jeje politico of the turbulent town. When he began 
a similar agitation some years ago, Diaz wisely kicked 
him "up-stairs" by sending him in that capacity to 
some small place in Lower California. Now he is back, 
making things lively. 

What remains of the Federal authorities, notaries, 
banking agents, industrials, et al., are still cooped up 
in the barracks there, or hiding in the woods and dis- 
tant ranches. The situation was tragic till the long- 
looked-for Maderista troops arrived — a motley crowd, 
boys strapped to guns larger than themselves predomi- 
nating over the rurales mounted on scrawny little crow- 
baits, looking like bandits in comic opera. They were 

159 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

accompanied by their womenkind, of course, and wan- 
dered aimlessly about. It was such a farce that even 
the natives laughed. 

Che Gomez is said to be supported by some sort of 
powerful influence, and his forces directed by some 
one having knowledge of military tactics. The dove 
of Madero's new peace is evidently not hovering over 
that portion of Mexico. The unrest is like an epidemic. 

I must now get into the black-velvet dress to go to 
the first reception of the new regime at Chapultepec. 

November 24th, evening. 

Madero's expression this afternoon was extraordinary. 
There was a kind of illumination of the plain, indefinite 
features, and he seemed scarcely to be walking with 
the sons of men. He had a smile which, without being 
fixed, was always there, and he talked a great deal, 
and quite freely, to various receptive plenipotentiaries. 

Madame Madero was simple and dignified, but under 
it all I fancy something passionate and resolute. The 
diplomats were out in force, but there was very little 
else to the reception. A few unlabeled outlying Mexican 
nondescripts came, and some of the Cabinet ministers. 
Cavmonsi, chef du protocole, and Nervo,the Second Intro- 
ducer of Ambassadors, did what they could; but it was 
only too apparent that various essential elements of the 
national body-politic were lacking. 

Madame Madero had on some sort of somber brocade 
with a hint of jewel sparkling in her lace jabot, and 
received in the big Sala de los Emhajadores. After greet- 
ing her, however, we went out to the terrace, where such 
wonders were going on in the heavens that man for the 
moment seemed indeed dust. Great bodies of clouds in 
the form of a vast rose-colored throng, which Madero 
ought properly to have been with, were taking their 

160 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

way across the western sky, and purple shadows began 
to come up from the valley, enveloping the city as we 
watched what I can only call the "orb of day" disappear 
behind the hills. Madero strikes me as being rather a 
type apart, not specially Mexican, but such a type as 
appears in strange moments of the history of the nation 
to which it belongs. 

November 25th. 

Waiting for lunch after a most delightful morning 
in the park with Baroness R. and the French and Belgian 
ministers. I don't know if it was Marina's ^ spirit, 
which, according to the Indian tradition, still slips 
among the cypresses, or other unrecorded ghosts; but as 
we walked through the Calzada de los Poetas and los 
Filosofos, the matchless sun filtering through the 
branches of the old ahuehuetes, their bronzy hue the 
only sign of winter one can note here, we all succumbed 
to some enchantment. 

There is a moss-hung cypress near one of the little 
lakes, called the Arbol de Moctezuma. It, with the 
Noche Triste tree, witnessed the fall of the Aztec Empire. 
There still remains an old inscription on a walled-in 
spring, marking the terminus of the Aztec aqueduct 
which brought drinking-water to Montezuma's capital 
from Chapultepec. The inscription, which I have some- 

^ Marina, the daughter of a cacique of Painalla, had been sold into 
slavery, and after the famous battle of Ceutla, when Santiago appeared 
in the heavens above the Spanish hosts (the chronicler of the event 
says that he, miserable sinner, was not worthy to see the apparition), 
she fell into the hands of the Spaniards. She was first allotted to 
Puertocarrero, but her abilities speedily raised her to the tent of 
Cort6s. She became his interpreter, his Egeria, his love, the instru- 
ment of fate, holding Indian and Spanish destinies alike in her hands. 
All historians of the epoch extol her virtues, and Bemal Diaz says 
they held her to be like no other woman on earth, because of her in- 
telligence and her devotion to the Spanish cause. By the Indians she 
is held eternally restless — malign — for having leagued herself with 
the Spaniards. 

161 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

times dallied by, says the aqueduct was renovated in 
1 57 1 by the fourth viceroy. It faces the dustiest of 
tramway lines now, but one is thankful for any writing 
on any wall that gives a clue to the past. 

Near the great tree is "Montezuma's Bath," where 
the water still bubbles up, only now the sprucest and 
most modern of flower-beds encircle it. This is the 
special haunt of Marina, but it is said that when an 
Indian has seen her at the ahuehuete pond he himself 
is seen no more. 

We sauntered about for a while listening to the music, 
and then the gentlemen proposed rowing Baroness R. 
and myself about in the tiny boats that are for hire. 
Once out from under the trees, one became modern and 
completely objective, and Mr. Lefaivre and I discussed 
European diplomatic appointments of his and my gov- 
ernments as we rowed about on the shallow, artificial 
lakes under the hottest of suns, between the made lands 
of the new section of the park. 

But every time we passed under the little bridge into 
the dimness of the narrow, tree-and-vine-grown banks 
of the little stream leading from two sides of the duck- 
pond, even though the band played a waltz from "The 
Balkan Princess," and a selection of "Lohengrin," and 
children were shouting and motors coming and going, 
that magic fell upon us. I didn't know if it were Aztec 
or Spanish ghosts, or spirits of the heroes of 1847, who 
assailed me. 

One thing is sure. Those old ahuehuetes keep every- 
thing that was ever confided to them and trap the 
unwary with it. At this season, too, one begins to see 
familiar migratory birds come to pass the cold season 
in Mexico, recalling with a note of homesickness the dis- 
tant land of one's birth. A "ruby-crowned kinglet" was 
perched on a low branch by the water — and some kind 

162 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

of a "warbler" was warbling New England lays all over 
the ancient park. 

November 30th. 

Zapata has just given some more building material 
to the new republic, in the shape of what he calls El 
Plan de Ayala, of the date of November 25th, written 
for him by one of the Vasquez Gomez brothers. To our 
surprise, the brilliant editor of La Prensa has spoken not 
unfavorably of it. 

I don't know if it is bowing to the inevitable, or ex- 
pediency, that makes him advocate the use of the afore- 
said material, which provides for the division of the 
lands of the state of Morelos, the only state in which, 
for climatic reasons (not political), the distribution of 
land could be undertaken without installing gigantic ir- 
rigation processes impossible for the Indians. 

All through Mexican history revolutionary leaders 
have launched these Plans. 

Iturbide published the Plan de Iguala, February 
24, 1823, known as Las Tres Garantias, Porfirio 
Diaz the Plan de Noria, 1869; Madero's Plajt de San 
Luis Potosi is what we are now living and breathing 
(and sometimes panting) by.^ 

' Carranza's Plan de Guadalupe, March 19, 1913, contains, among 
other oddities, the statement of this "Everlasting Idol of Free Peoples," 
that "as our Constitution forbids us to confiscate, we have decided to 
do without our Constitution for a while." 



XIV 



The feast of Guadalupe — Peace reigns on the Isthmus — Earthquakes — 
Madero in a dream — The French colony ball — Studies in Mexican 
democracy — Christmas preparations 

December ist. 

A PINCHING, cold snap, the result of a norte of 
long duration blowing from Vera Cruz. The heat 
quickly goes out of the body, and at this altitude is 
not easily made up again. I have been penetrated to 
my soul as if by a thin knife. The air is so attenuated 
that there is nothing to it except cold, no exhilaration. 
The oil-stoves, I have discovered, are not lighted with 
impunity. They have a way of suddenly emitting a 
long, high column of black smoke, after which some- 
thing detonates, and the room and the people in it are 
covered by a fine, black soot. One rings, the source of 
trouble is removed, and one stays cold. 

Very pleasant lunch here yesterday; the only way to 
get warm is to eat, drink, and be merry, especially this 
last. The luncheon was for the Belgian minister, who 
had been appointed to Copenhagen. Can't you hear 
us telling him about the Rabens and the Frijs, Klampen- 
borg, and the H6tel d' Angleterre ? The Lefaivres 
brought a friend who is staying with them — Vicomte de 
Kargaroue, a Breton of the vieille noblesse, who is that 
anomaly, a French globe-trotter. 

I am sending you in the form of Christmas cards 
some samples of present-day f eather-work ; a pale relic 

164 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

of the plumaje the Aztecs used to be so famous for, 
persisting through the ages. It doesn't at all resemble 
the beautiful feather-work mantle, said to have belonged 
to Montezuma, that I saw among the treasures in the 
Hofburg at Vienna. 

December 4th. 
Society is agog here; it is the first appearance on any 
scene, since my arrival, of the erste Gesellschaft. A young 
man shot and killed another at a famous club, and then 
died as the result of an accidental wound to himself. 
He was married on his death-bed to the mother of his 
children; the whole is a story for the pen of Ibafiez or 
Echegaray. For hours the streets were filled with 
carriages and autos taking floral tributes to the stricken 
mother. Oh, the hearts of mothers! So many crimes, 
social, civil, and national are being committed all over 
the world, but everywhere some souls are yearning for 
perfection — to keep it all going! 

December 6th. 

My little luncheon for American women went off 
very well. The dishes Teresa knows — the classic 
huachinango, cold and "well presented," with a good 
mayonnaise sauce, the small, fat-breasted ducks with 
peas, that every one is serving at this season here, were 
the "chief of our diet." 

Mrs. Kilvert, Mrs. C. R. Hudson, Mrs. Paul Hudson, 
the wife of the editor of the Mexican Herald, Mrs. 
McLaren, Mrs. Beck, Mrs. Bassett and the ambassa- 
dress and her sister came. 

This is just a word while waiting for Mrs. Wilson to 
come back for me to go on a calling bout with her. She 
goes home to spend the holidays with her boys, so I 
shall have to do what Christmas honors are done — a 
tree and incidental tea. 

I inclose a little verse by Joaquin Miller that I cut 

i6s 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

out of the Herald this morning. Though outrageously 
bad, the line "glorious gory Mexico," is unforgetable. 

MEXICO 

Thou Italy o£ the Occident, 

Land of flowers and summer climes, 

Of holy priests and horrid crimes; 

Land of the cactus and sweet cocoa; 

Richer, than all the Orient 

In gold arid glory, in want and woe. 

In self-denial, in days misspent, 

In truth and treason, in good and guilt, 

In ivied ruins and altars low, 

In battered walls and blood misspilt; 

Glorious gory Mexico. 

Evening. 
Among our visits to-day was one on Madame Creel. 
They have a very large and handsome house in the 
Calle de Londres, not yet quite finished. Everything 
French. In the drawing-room where Madame C. re- 
ceived were two splendid Sevres vases, and great French- 
plate mirrors and French brocades cover the walls. 
Mr. Creel, fresh-complexioned, white-haired, speaking 
English very well, and liking to recall ambassadorial 
days in Washington, took us over the uncompleted 
part of the house. The large ball-room is awaiting 
special bronze electric-light appliques, door and window 
fastenings, now on their way from Paris, where all the 
woodwork of the house was executed.^ 

^ During the first Carrancista occupation of Mexico City this house 
was sacked and stripped of all belongings. Not an electric-light fixture, 
not a door-knob was left; even the costly floorings were torn up. Street- 
cars run through the Calles de Londres and told me that for days the 

traffic was interrupted by cars filled with the Creels' furniture and works 
of art, which were left standing in front of the house. One rather sighs 
for the fate of the Sevres vases, and one thinks involuntarily of the new 
verb in the Spanish language, " carranciar," to steal like a Carrancista. 

i66 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

December nth, evening. 

This afternoon Madame Lefaivre and Mr. de Soto 
and I went out to Guadalupe to see the preparations for 
to-morrow's feast, the greatest in Mexico. 

Indians were arriving from all directions, bivouack- 
ing close up against the church. They seemed to have 
brought not only all their children, but all their furni- 
ture in the shape of petates and earthen bowls, and any 
incidental live-stock they possessed in the shape of goat 
or dog. It was quite cold, and in the dusk they seemed 
like their own ancestors coming over the hills for the 
worship of dreaded and dreadful gods. 

Nothing except the Deity and the temple has changed 
since the old days ; they themselves are unmodified, and 
seemingly unmodifiable. I dare say one would give a 
gasp if one could really see what they thought about the 
Virgin of Guadalupe, or the "Cause of Causes." 

They come in from hidden mountain towns, where 
images of other gods are still graven, and where charms 
and incantations are used, which doesn't at all affect 
their devotion to "Nuestra Senora de Guadalupe." 
Often they are many days en route, and all night until 
dawn they will be arriving at the great shrine. 

We crossed the plaza to a near-by house, where a 
painter-friend of Mr. de S.'s lived, going up some wind- 
ing stone steps in a house built at the end of the six- 
teenth century, giving into irregular-shaped rooms with 
strange windows apparently not designed to give light. 
The paintings portrayed little or nothing of the charm 
of Mexico, but Madame Lefaivre found one of some 
place near Cordoba, which she thought for a moment 
that she wanted. I would much rather have closed my 
eyes and looked in on my inner Mexican gallery, or been 
out with the mysterious Indians in the mysterious twi- 
light which was enveloping the crowded plaza. 

167 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

When we finally came out lanterns were being hung 
on the little booths, tortilleras were slapping up their 
cakes, and everywhere there was a smell of the pungent 
peppers and all sorts of nameless things they put into 
them. Children were rolled up asleep or playing about 
half-clad in the cold dusk, and zarape-enveloped men 
bent over dimly lighted squares of cloth laid out on the 
ground, engrossed in games of chance. I was suddenly 
sad, as one might be at seeing rolled out the inexorable 
scroll of a subject people. 

December 12th. 

Beautiful weather, soft, shining, clear — but that cold 
snap was a terror. Many little brown Indian babies 
returned to their Maker by way of bronchitis, pneu- 
monia, and kindred ills. It is good to think of them 
warm, safe with the Lord, so many children with none 
or insufficient clothing in that cruel, lifeless cold ! 

It has been rather a day of contrasts, for in the morn- 
ing I mingled again with the Indian world at Guadalupe,^ 
and in the afternoon I went to the benefit held for a 
new charity hospital by a committee of American women. 
The affair crystallized about the art exhibit of Miss 
Helen Hyde, who has a collection of the most lovely 
Japanese things done on her recent visit to Nippon, 
She calls them chromozylographs, and they are charm- 
ingly framed in plain black strips. I bought several 
after harrowing indecisions. 

Madame Madero came and had tea with us at a 
table over which Mrs. Wilson presided. Madame Ma- 
dero was almost extinguished by a huge bronze-green 
and purple hat matching her velvet dress. Madame 
Calero and Madame Lie made up the party, with Mrs. 
Stronge, the newly married wife of the British 'minister, 

1 Diplomat's Wife in Mexico, Feast of the Virgin of Guadalupe. 

168 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

who has just anived. She had on some interesting 
emeralds, picked up in Bogota, their last post. 

Mrs. Wilson goes to-morrow. I always miss her 
kindness and her consideration. 

Christmas is in the air. We dine with the ambassa- 
dor at the Kilverts' at Coyoacan on that day. My 
thoughts will be with my dear ones, and the seas, the 
mountains, and the valleys between will hurt. 

Just now the following was handed in to me through 
Mr. Cummings: "Governor Juarez left for Oaxaca last 
night. General Hernandez and troops left for Juchitan 
this morning. Peace reigns on the Isthmus." 

It looks as if it soon might be time for a lone exotic 
niece to betake her to those regions. 

December 15th. 

A very interesting letter from San Ger6nimo of the 
12th came this morning. The governor, with his party, 
had just left the house for Tehuan tepee and Salina Cruz. 
He had come most unostentatiously, with only his sec- 
retaries and a few officials — no guard, no private car, 
no banquets — as he said he had come to restore peace, 
and not for feasting. 

The celebrated Che Gomez, an hour or so before, had 
been sitting, uninvited and imafraid, on the front porch. 
When he learned that the governor was expected he 
betook himself off, with followers and guard, to another 
station. The governor subsequently wired the police at 
Rincon Antonio to arrest him on the arrival of the train 
before he got out of the state (Oaxaca). He was taken 
to jail, and that night was shot with his men. 

No word of regret anywhere for his fate, and I 
dare say he gave up his own life as easily as he had 
taken that of others. Governor Juarez was warmly 
welcomed by all the towns, even by poor, ruined Juchi- 
tan, Che Gomez's own town, with open arms and flowers. 

169 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

The law-abiding citizens are returning to their dis- 
mantled homes, after living in the bush, from hand to 
mouth, for weeks. 

December i6ih. 

This morning at 11.30 a "good" earthquake. It sud- 
denly got very dark, and I went to the window, my in- 
fant clutching at my dress, to see what was happening, 
when the roofs of the houses opposite began to undulate, 
and I had to catch hold of the window, or we would have 
been thrown to the floor. 

The horses stopped short with perfectly stiff legs, and 
people began running out of the doors and kneeling in 
the street and shrieking, " Misericordia! Misericordia!" 
most uncomfortably. Nothing was broken in the house, 
but every picture was left hanging askew, and pale 
servants served a luncheon which showed the effects on 
them! 

Elena appeared collarless, with damp, thick hair float- 
ing down her back, and Cecilia had a blue rebozo twisted 
about her, no hint of white anywhere on her person. 
They passed the dishes at an angle of forty-five degrees. 

Later. 

At three o'clock a dimness again fell upon the city, 
and there was the faint, uncanny sound of sliding objects 
and slipping pictures and swaying doors and curtains. 
In a second of time it had passed, but the hint of cosmic 
forces leaves a decided trace on mere flesh and blood. 

We went to the reception at Chapultepec on Thurs- 
day, "par charite, pas par snobisme," as somebody un- 
kindly said. The Mexican families of repute boycott 
the Madero receptions. The few Mexicans who do go 
don't figure in the real national accounting. The diplo- 
mats feel that they at least ought to go, so last Thursday 
the inclosed clipping was produced. 

170 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

Madame Madero, though small and worn-looking, is 
always dignified and courteous, and receives with sim- 
plicity and cordiality. Madero seems in a continual 
ecstasy; one would think he found Chapultepec the 
seventh heaven. He is full of confidence in himself and 
in the country. A happy man, one involuntarily says 
in looking at him. To-night is the ball the French 
colony gives for him. 

December 17th. 

The reception at the "Cercle Frangais," in their fine 
quarters in the Calle de Motolinia, was a great success. 
The President with Madame Lefaivre, in a handsome 
black-and-white gown, and Mr. Lefaivre with Madame 
Madero in a dark, rich evening dress, headed the pro- 
cession to an elaborate supper, all following according 
to the protocol, Mr. Madero and Mr. Lefaivre sitting 
facing each other. Allart took me in. 

Everything was decorated with the tricolor, and red 
and blue and white lights, and masses of natural flowers, 
and very good music played continuously; the affair 
was got up by the wealthy French commergants in honor 
of the President and his wife. 

Madame Lefaivre said the President talked to her 
the whole time in a most sanguine manner about the 
reforms he intends to introduce, especially in the matter 
of public instruction, and w^as wrapped about with il- 
lusions and dreams as to his role of apostle charged with 
the regeneration of Mexico. 

Afterward, when he made his speech in answer to the 
toast, he recalled happy souvenirs of his youth in the 
Lycee de Versailles. When they subsequently made the 
tour of the salon, Madame Lefaivre, in passing me, 
whispered that she was toute confuse at feeling herself 
so big on the arm of the little President. He saluted 
right and left with a smile which, without being fixed, 

171 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

was always there. I think he was very pleased with the 
occasion and its international setting. 

It is always interesting to see any colony turn out in 
distant posts, and here the French colony, represent- 
ing very large interests — banking, industrial, mercantile 
— is numerous and important, comparable only to that 
in Moscow. 

The large department shops, h la Bon MarcM, like 
the "Palacio de Hierro" and the "Puerto de Vera Cniz," 
are in French hands. From the days of their interven- 
tion, the French have invested largely in Mexico, and 
now I hear there is much uneasiness in GalHc quarters, 
so many interests are to be protected, and the protec- 
tion is an unknown quantity. Mr. Lefaivre is untiring 
in his efforts — but order can only come through the 
government itself. 

Previous to the famous elections, or rather "selec- 
tions," as I prefer to call them (the word elections could 
be dropped from use and not missed in Mexico), the 
Partido CatoHco, among other parties of conservative 
tendencies, was not efficiently formed. Iglesias Cal- 
deron represented the old anti-clerical party, and De la 
Barra, in spite of his determination to retire from public 
Hfe, was made the candidate of the National Catholic 
party, and of the Liberal party as well, for the Vice- 
Presidency. 

It was "generally understood" that he would be de- 
feated. N. said last night, informally, to Madero: "It 
is a pity; Mr. de la Barra has such a good standing 
abroad." Madero replied: "I will see that he is elected 
from somewhere else." And he was, later, from Quere- 
taro, his native town, as senator, I think. 

They haven't got the "hang" of democracy here, nor 
any suspicion of political parties having rights and dig- 
nities, and it is discouraging to see them trying to work 

172 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

out their questions without any such suspicions. It 
is war to the knife or the adjective when one man differs 
from another. 

Bulnes had one of his flashing, witty articles in El 
Imparcial not long ago, d propos of the candidature of 
Pino Suarez, in which he says that as in classic days 
the language of intellectuals was Latin, now in Latin- 
America that of the politicians is any kind of vile lan- 
guage, and to be in conformity with electoral urbanity, 
when meeting an acquaintance, one should salute him 
by saying, "I forestall any remark you may make, by 
telling you that if you hold opinions differing from mine 
you are a scoundrel!" 

December i8th. 

I am inviting for my Xmas festivity those with 
children, and the childless, the colleagues, the Bedfords, 
the Bonillas, Kilverts, Judge W., the ambassador's great 
friend, 'and members of the embassy. Mr. Wilson has 
gone for a few days to the hot country to try to get 
rid. of his cold, and N. is looking after things in his 
absence. I have sent off seventy post-cards, quite a 
document of this strange land. 

Ver>'- pleasant dinner at the French Legation last 
night. Bridge afterward till an unduly late hour for 
Mexico. The Lefaivres have been here three years 
already, and would take a European post without urging. 
You would like them — cultivated, sincere, and kind, and 
Lefaivre shows his long training, his Latin-American 
experience in his full appreciation of the situation. They 
came here from Havana, and keep open house, constant- 
ly entertaining their colony, as well as doing more than 
their share of "nourishing" their colleagues. 

Have just been with Madame Lefaivre to the tea 

given by for his extraordinary-looking daughter, a 

huge, dark-eyed, fresh-complexioned creature, a la belle 

173 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

Fatima, innocent, ignorant, and wanting a husband; a 
not unusual type here, but not in our Anglo-Saxon 
category at all. 

December igth, Tuesday. 

Hohler dropped in late for a few minutes. He is going 
off on one of his long trips into the heart of the country. 
When I asked him which one of his antique comrades 
would accompany him, he pulled out a fine little edition 
of Virgil, diamond-printed on matchless paper. He is 
endlessly strong and keen about things in general, and 
now that the minister has arrived, can leave for a few 
days' outing. 

Some of the long-expected furniture from London has 
come, and the Stronges are busy installing themselves. 
The ''lion and the unicorn" are always most generous 
to those who represent them abroad. 

Two interesting young women with letters from New 
York, from Mr. Choate, also called — Miss Hague and 
Miss Brownell. They are painting and collecting folk- 
songs. I am thankful for any one coming here to record 
the fading glories of Mexico with intelligence and love. 
They will come for the Christmas tree, also. 

December 2ist. 

Monsignore Vay de Vaya appeared yesterday en route 
for Panama, You know space scarcely exists for him. 
He found a warm welcome, and I have a luncheon for him 
on Saturday. He sends many regards, and hopes to 
meet you at Nauheim again next summer. I am asking 
the Lefaivres, Riedls, Carmona, chef du protocole, De 
Soto, the Belgian minister, et al. 

I enclose letter of the 17th from Aunt L., who has 
just been to Juchitan, saying that the town looked very 
battered. The jefe not yet back. Among domestic 
items she says a large packet of cranberries has arrived; 

174 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

after thirty years of Mexico, it is not quite so common- 
place as it sounds, but rather as if a denizen of a Vermont 
village had received a crate of mangoes. 

December 22d, Friday. 

N. and I went to call on Monsignore this morning. 
He is stopping at the Hotel Iturbide. He was out, but 
I took a look about the imposing patio, three-storied, 
colonnaded, and pierced with large, beautifully carved 
doorways and windows. It was started on a magnificent 
scale for the Emperor Iturbide, who paid the usual 
Mexican penalty for power at the hands of the usual 
Mexican patriots before it was finished. 'Tis known 
that as a hotel it leaves to be desired; the dust of revo- 
lutions and ages covers the spacious corridors. There 
are strange silences when you call for hot water, or any 
kind of water, for that matter. And you eat some- 
where else. 

Yesterday another reception at Chapultepec. Ma- 
dame Madero is much changed from the simple-appear- 
ing woman of the Von Hintze dinner. I see she natu- 
rally inclines to a somber richness of dress — dark velvets, 
dull brocades — which I think fit her passionate, am- 
bitious, resolute temperament, though sometimes over- 
powering to her small physique. 

Yesterday she had on a deep-blue brocaded velvet, 
with some sort of heavy, lusterless fringe, and there was 
a decided though still discreet gleam of jewels. That 
air of coming from the provinces, but nice provinces, is 
somewhat gone. 

The President slipped in quietly, later, without the 
playing of the national hymn. There was quite a musi- 
cal program. Madame Esmeralda de Grossmann played 
beautifully on the harp. It appears she has an inter- 
national reputation. The daughter of , attired in 

175 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

a very tight-skirted, lemon-colored satin dress, trimmed 
with swan's-down, one of her pupils, started to play, 
broke down, was further discomfited and finally routed 
by irate paternal glances. Angela Madero sings charm- 
ingly with natural style, and gave Massenet's "Elegie" 
delightfully. One is continually interested in the com- 
position of the presidential receptions, which means so 
much more than appears. Madero's father and mother 
were there, with various daughters and sons and sons' 
wives. 

The Vice-President, young, tall, dark-skinned, black- 
eyed, black-mustached, regular of features, without, 
however, any perceptible color of personality, was ac- 
companied by his wife and a contingent of satellites, 
moving wherever he moved with the regularity of the 
heavenly bodies — no intention of revolving alone in the 
unknown social orbit. The Corps Diplomatique was out 
in force, and the Protocole, Carmona, Nervo, Pulido, 
etc., also Don Felix Romero, chief of the Supreme Court, 
and his wife. Judge and Mrs. Sepulveda of California, 
naturalized Americans, with a handsome daughter. But 
beyond these I did not see any of what might be called 
"pillars of society," or, indeed, anything remotely re- 
sembling props to uphold the new order. We presented 
Monsignor Vay de Vaya, who struck the international 
note in the pink-and-white-and-gold salon des am- 
bassadeurs, whose spaces were known to those princes 
of his monarchy, Maximilian and Carlota. 

December 2jd, evening. 

The Christmas tide is flowing full about the Alameda, 
where the Indians have again stocked their puestos with 
reminders of the season. We have just come from a 
little tournee between the rows of booths hung with 
lanterns of every size and color, the odor of la race 

176 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

cuivree mingling with the more familiar scent of freshly- 
cut pine-trees. Tiny plaster and terra-cotta groups of 
the "Three Kings" abound — a white man, a negro, a 
Mongolian in various fanciful garbings — shone on by 
the largest of stars, and all sorts of "Holy Families," 
especially the "Flight into Egypt," where the burro 
seems to have come into his own. 

On all sides were great piles of peanuts, fruits known 
and unknown, highly colored sweets, heaps upon heaps 
of fragile potteries, and charming, pliable baskets, 
brought to the city from mountain fastnesses or distant 
plains by Indian families afoot. 

Soft, shining-bodied children were sleeping in the 
most fortuitous of positions, uncovered, in the chill 
night air. I could but think of blue-eyed, white-skinned 
children in warm nurseries. They lay beside grotesque 
naguales — figures with hideous human faces on woolly 
four-footed bodies, whose raison d'etre is to frighten. 
The population inclines to the grotesque, anyway, on 
the sHghtest provocation, and side by side with the 
naguales are other hideous clown-like figures — pinatas — • 
which are the high-lights of certain time-hallowed post- 
Christmas festivities. They are of all sizes and prices — 
from Httle paper dolls hanging from bamboo rods that 
will decorate adobe huts to the more expensive figures, 
bulky about the waist, whose tinsel and tissue-paper 
garments conceal a great earthenware jar filled with 
toys and candies. 

The cohetes are sounding as I write — a sort of fire- 
cracker — announcing the advent of the Child to this 
Indian world. 

As for the Posadas, we are evidently not to be initiated 
into, their mysteries. The Mexican families of note con- 
tinue to sport their oaks since the coming in of the 
Madero administration, and the Diplomatic Corps this 

177 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

year is left out in the cold on these intimate occasions, 
which are family parties held during nine days before 
Christmas, symbolic of the efforts of Mary and Joseph 
to find a resting-place in crowded Bethlehem. 

December 24th. 

We see the list of diplomatic shifts; among them are 
a few real Christmas presents. Bearing, who returned 
a short time ago, is made assistant chief of the Latin- 
American division of the State Department. He has 
made and will continue to make une bonne carridre. 
Schuyler, whom I have not seen since he passed through 
Copenhagen en route for Petersburg, takes his place here. 
Cresson goes to London, which will please him; the 
Blisses get Paris, quite the handsomest of all the presents. 
Weitzel, who was here when we arrived, goes to Nicara- 
gua, and so on through a long list. I felt, when I saw 
the changes, a sort of hankering for the Aryan fiesh- 
pots, a sudden feeling of my unrelatedness to Latin 
America. I was, so to speak, for the moment "fed up" 
on the tropics with a thick sauce of world pain. Any 
light-colored diplomat will know just what I mean, and 
I dare say the dark ones feel it in higher latitudes. 

Diplomacy, as offered by the United States Govern- 
ment, is a most unsettling thing, anyway. The basic 
uncertainties of the carriire, to begin with, and then, 
if you are in a place you Hke, the feeling that at any 
time the trump may sound, and if you don't like it, 
hoping to be changed. However, it all goes up like 
smoke along with other human things. 



XV 



The first Christmas in Mexico City — Hearts sad and gay — Pifiatas — 
Statue to Christopher Columbus. 

Christmas Day, igii. 

MY first thought was of my precious mother, 
Vahsence est le plus grand des maux. I went to 
midnight mass at the French church with Madame Le- 
faivre. The Adeste Fideles was beautifully sung, and I 
thought of the millions of throats, all over the glad, sad 
earth, singing the peace-bringing air. 

I was so happy that of the people assembled around 
the tree three knew you and spoke of you — Monsignore 
Vay de Vaya, and Mrs. Bedford and her daughter. It 
was sad to have Aunt L. so near and yet so far. 

The little party went off very well — tiny souvenirs for 
each. Elim was overwhelmed with toys of the most 
elaborate kind, and I was almost embarrassed at one 
time, as they came piling in. The only children present, 
alas, were Jim Chermont, Mrs. C. R. Hudson's pretty 
blond-haired little girl, the Japanese children, and little 
Harold Hotchkiss. They played near the tree, mostly 
lying on their little tummies, with their heels in the air, 
as near the lights as possible. 

Allart sent the dearest miniature charro costume as a 
present to Elim, with a line that he was too sad to come; 
his beloved little daughter is in Belgium. 

In the morning I drove down to the San Juan Letran 
market and brought back a great bundle of the gorgeous 

13 179 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

fior de Noche Buena (Poinsettia) , most difficult to ar- 
range on account of the thick, angular stems, and not 
too trustworthy about keeping fresh, even here on its 
native heath. But the red made lovely splashes of color 
in the rooms, which were packed. It ended by my in- 
viting every Anglo-Saxon in town, as well as the diplo- 
mats, but I have noted that on festive occasions people 
like being packed. 

The punch, after an excellent receipt given me by 
Madame Bonilla, was good and heady, as a punch 
should be, and the ambassador sent his Belgian mattre 
d'hotel to superintend the serving of the refrescos. I 
know, however, that many a thought was far, and many 
a heart sad, because of separations and vanishings. 

At four o'clock to-day I light up the tree for the ser- 
vants, and give them their presents. They have carte 
blanche to bring any of their related young, so I imagine 
we will be fairly numerous. I then take Elim to the 
Chermonts' tree, and we dine at the Kilverts' at Coyoa- 
can, driving out with the ambassador and Mr. Potter 
and Mr. Butler. 

To-morrow Elim goes to a pinata given by Madame 
Bonilla, childless herself, but always so eager to make 
children happy. Wednesday to another at Madame 
Clara Scherer's. I don't know how he will stand so 
much "going out." He and Jim Chermont had quite 
a little "shindy" toward the end of the afternoon yes- 
terday, at which the tiny Jap assisted with joy. 

The pinata is hung from the ceiling of the zaguan 
(vestibule entrance into the patio). Each child in turn 
is blindfolded, presented with a long stick, turned 
around, and then told to proceed. When a lucky hit 
breaks the pinata, there is a stampede for the scattered 
treasure. 

On Wednesday Madame Lefaivre has Monsignore to 

i8o 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

dinner; they had met before in Paris at the Princesse 
de PoHgnac's. 

Elim went to bed with a goat with sharp horns, from 
Madame Lie, a whip, and nearly a brigade of soldiers, 
which I removed from him in the "first sweet dreams of 
night." 

December 28th. 

The pinatas continue, one this afternoon at Mrs. C. 
R. Hudson's. They appear to be quite exciting, for 
little darlings dream and moan about them in their sleep. 

Yesterday Elim was taking the papers out of the waste- 
paper basket in the library and loading them onto one 
of the Christmas wagons. He was clad in pale blue, 
looking inexpressibly fair and remote from earthiness, 
when he raised those blue, blue eyes to me and said: 
"Mama, ich bin der Mistmann" (I am the garbage- 
man). Talking of contrasts! 

Now I must dress for the dinner at the French Lega- 
tion for Monsignore. He is looking very worn. These 
long world- journeys that he makes for his emigration 
work take it out of him. From the founding of an 
orphanage in Corea to the visiting of Hungarian dock 
laborers on the Isthmus of Panama is rather a stretch 
of nerves as well as space. 

We have the news that General Reyes' Christmas gift 
was his surrender to the Federal troops — quite a pleasant 
surprise for Mr. Madero's "stocking." He is eliminated; 
but all seem ready to fight over the bones of peace that 
Diaz left — though not one of them is worthy to tie his 
shoe-strings from the point of civic government and 
keeping of order, which last I now see is the first requisite 
for any state. 

There is a cartoon in the Chicago Inter-Ocean of Madero 
trying to hold his hat on, with Diaz watching from 
Europe. That Parthian shot of his, that in the end the 

181 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

Government would have to use his methods, is going 
home. 

December sgtJi. 

The "angel boy" has lost a front tooth — one of those 
that you watched come. It fell out at Madame 

's pinata, in her big, too-handsome house, where 

the entertainment was most elaborate, and the toys that 
were scrambled for when the olla was broken were of the 
most expensive kind. Afterward all imaginable rich 
things were served in the big dining-room. The hottest, 
pepperiest tamales were passed around to about forty 
little Mexican darlings, who ate them, not only with 
relish, but composure; my taste brought tears to my 
eyes and a call for water. 

Elim left his seat to bring his tooth triumphantly to 
me and tell me I must have it set in gold. He is so 
little that he will be around for years with a hole in his 
mouth. I felt much the way I would have felt had I 

discovered him growing a mustache. Madame 's 

house, in good taste outside, architecturally, is like her 
pictures inside, the frames too rich for what they inclose. 
There are agate-topped tables and malachite bric-a-brac 
in heavy gilt vitrines, and "hand-painted" screens. It is 
beautifully situated in the Glorieta Colon, the rond- 
point where the statue of Christopher Columbus, by a 
French artist, was raised in 1877. It shows him sur- 
rounded by the two monks who helped him in the great 
adventure, and Fray Pedro de la Gante and Fray Barto- 
lome de las Casas, lovers and protectors of the Indians. 

The monks are Padre Juan Perez de Marchena, prior 
of the convent of Santa Maria Rabada, who had the wit 
to understand and the power to further Columbus's 
project. The other, Fray Diego Dehasa, was the con- 
fessor and adviser of King Ferdinand. It's too bad 

182 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

Humboldt could not have seen it, for he says: "On peut 
traverser VAm^rique Espagnole depuis Buenos Aires 
JMsqud Monterrey, depuis la Trinity et Porto Rico jusqu'd 
Panama et Veragua, et nulle part on ne rencontrera un 
monument national que la reconnaissance publique ait 
elev^ a la gloire de Christophe Colomb et de Hernan Cortes." 

December 2gth. 
Two Sportsmen of note, Count Sala and Mr. Williams, 
came for lunch to-day, also Riedl. They are here en route 
to Tampico for tarpon-fishing, the only really fine sport 
Mexico offers to foreigners. They were at the delightful 
dinner at the French Legation the other night for 
Monsignore. 

December 30, igii. 

One of Aunt Louise's exquisite letters came this morn- 
ing — I will forward it another time. She begins by 
saying, "Where are you, wandering star?" and wishes 
me, wherever the end of the earthly year finds me, 
"joys that reside in little things, as well as fortune's 
greater gifts." 

Outside night and snow were falling. Within lamps 
were lighted and fire glowing. Genevieve was playing 
"Robin Adair," and her "heart was suddenly sad to 
plumbless depths," because of separations. She closes 
with a verse (I don't remember from whom) : 

When windflowers blossom on the sea, 
And fishes skim along the plain, 

Then we who part this weary day, 
Then you and I will meet again. 



XVI 



Off for Tehuan tepee — A journey through the jungles — The blazing 
tropics — Through Chivela Pass in the lemon-colored dawn — Ravages 
of the revolution — A race of queens 

January i, igi2. 

MY first thought flies to you this morning. I have 
sorrowed, smiled, in other years, perhaps learned 
to pray, so mayhap my heart is ready for 191 2. 

N. has gone to the Palace, where the President receives 
the gentlemen of the Diplomatic Corps; this afternoon 
Madame Madero receives both messieurs et dames. Last 
night a pleasant dinner at the Embassy, at which I 
presided. Americans only, the ambassador's special 
friends, and home in reasonable time. I was "hung 
solitary in the universe" when twelve o'clock struck 
and kindly healths were drunk. I thought of the light 
already beginning to break over the wintry Zurich hills, 
and of you, and Elliott and his Calvary, and that other 
dear one of our blood, lost to men but not to God. Was 
he sleeping quietly? 

January 2d. 

N. came in a while ago with arrangements complete 
for the trip to Tehuantepec. A telegram from Aunt 
Laura last night says: "All quiet here again; so glad 
you are at last coming." 

It seems like a fairy-tale that I am off to San Geronimo, 
that exotic memory of my childhood. I remember we 
called it San Gerofiimo instead of pronouncing it San 
Her(5nimo. How the letters used to come dropping in — 

184 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

and the presents! The red-leather-covered sandalwood 
box, with its brass nails; the strange, square, old Spanish 
silver coins, just chopped off, as one would a bit of dough, 
and stamped hot; the painted gourds, the idols and the 
bright bits of embroidery. 

N. has just been delegated to go to get an American 
out of jail, the third one this week. They are taken up 
for nothing; we are not popular here just now. 

Madame Madero's New-Year's reception for the Corps 
Diplomatique was poorly attended and there was no en- 
livening touch in the way of refreshments and nothing 

in which to drink healths. The wife of the minister 

asked the President for a verre d'eau toward the end. 
He was very apologetic, pleasant, and modest, and said : 
"Oh, we don't know how to do these things." He 
seemed full of good intentions and hope for 191 2 — but 
alack ! alack ! never has it been seen that nobility alone 
is able to maintain its possessor! 

Elim is begging me to bring him a monkey when I 
come back. I hate to disappoint him — but do you see 
me traveling with anything belonging to that species? 
The trip is said to be magnificent — two nights and one 
day. I wish it were two days and one night. 

Aunt L. is thinking of me and preparing for me; I 
know what it means for some one of her own to penetrate 
to her fastness, or rather her jungle. Mr. Cummings 
has put the telegraph at N.'s and my disposal while I am 
away. I have not been outside the Federal district since 
I arrived, so content with the treasures of this matchless 
valley; but of course one easily gets the Reisefieber. 

I will write en route to the "blazing tropics." Now, 
farewell. 

January 4th, C6rdoba, 10 a.m. 

We have just descended into a dew-drenched world. 
It is supposed to be the "dry season," estacidn de secas. 

185 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

A warm, wet, glistening air comes in at the window, and 
my furs are in the rack. 

I have been watching endless coffee-plantations with 
red berries shining among the foliage, and great tobacco- 
fields of broad, shiny leaves. Banana-trees grow close 
to the tracks, and everywhere are the most perishable 
of homes, built of what looks like nothing more solid 
than corn-stalks and dried leaves. 

C6rdoba was founded early in the seventeenth century 
by a viceroy, who modestly called it after himself. 

Later. 

A series of the most gorgeous mountain vistas, tunnel 
after tunnel, and in between each darkness a world of 
beauty. Lovely palms abound, delicate yet definite in 
their flowery symmetry. The Pico de Orizaba has made 
various farewell appearances, one more enchanting and 
regretful than the other. Now a great plain is rolling 
away, of seemingly incredible fertility, with shadows 
of clouds on its shining stretches. 

The faithful banana, which was first brought to this 
continent by a Dominican monk, via Haiti, about the 
time of the Conquest certainly came into its own in this 
hot, moist land. One of the early ecclesiastical writers 
in Mexico was so impressed that he hazards the state- 
ment that it was the forbidden fruit that tempted Eve. 
It certainly continues to tempt both sexes and all ages 
to idleness. 

Later. 
Presidio, in the canon of the Rio Blanco. 

I have been absorbed in watching the tropical jungles, 
where form is eliminated. Every tree is choked or cloaked 
by some sort of enveloping convolvuli; every wall has its 
formless abundant covering. No silhouettes anywhere, 

i86 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

no "cut" to anything — which is why all this richness 
could, I imagine, get monotonous. 

TiERRA BlANCA, J.JO. 

In the "blazing tropics"! A heavy, hot atmosphere 
comes in at the window. All along there has been much 
sitting of a dark race under banana-trees, where not even 
a change of position seems necessary in order to be fed. 

We have had a long wait here at Tierra Blanca, which 
is the junction of a branch line to Vera Cruz, and I have 
been watching station life. It's very highly colored. 
Here and there appears an unmistakably American face — 
the "exploiters" some would call them; but it seems to 
me they gather up all this vague splendor, this endless 
abundance, into something definite, with benefits to the 
greater number, though some get "left," of course. 

There is a decided note of carpe diem transposed into 
orange, scarlet, and black, which all the coming and 
going of men, women, and children with baskets of coffee- 
beans doesn't do away with. In the tropics the white 
man is king, be he Yankee, Spaniard, or Northman, and 
it is part of the lure. The abundances of Mother Earth 
are for his harvesting; a strange, native race seems there 
to do him honor, render him service, asking only in 
return enough of the abundance to keep soul in body for 
the allotted span. 

We have just passed the broad Rio Mariposa (Butter- 
fly River), and are at a place called "Obispo." Indian 
women are holding up baskets of the most gorgeous 
fruits, babes on their backs, cigarettes in their mouths. 
We are near the celebrated Valle Nacional. I remem- 
ber some terrible articles in one of the magazines about 
the human miseries in the working of the tobacco- 
factories, herds of men, women, and children locked 
together into great sheds at night during tropical storms, 

187 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

enslavements, separations. It's easy to hope it is not 
so, but I dare say it is. 

We are zigzagging through dense jungle with the 
gaudiest splashes of color. Flashy birds are flying 
about. Sometimes one wonders if it is bird or flower. 
All the green is studded with bright spots. There are 
great, flat, meadow-like spaces, the soil looking rich 
enough to bear food for all the hungry millions of the 
earth, and numberless cattle are grazing over it. But 
oh ! the inexpressible slipshodness of the himian abodes ! 
An5rthing perishable, nearest at hand, sugar-cane stalks, 
palm leaves, continue to compose the dwellings ; and oh ! 
the crowds of children, of human beings, just as slipshod, 
just as perishable ! 

The sun is setting. Great pink brushes of cirrus are 
covering the sky, against a blue that hates to give way, 
but in a moment I know it will be dark. 

Later. 

A wonderful day, but somehow I am glad I was bom 
in the temperate zone. I suppose it's the New England 
blood protesting against all this, as something wasteful 
and unrelated. Since we passed the heavy-flowing Rio 
Mariposa I have been having more than a touch of 
"world-pain." The light is so poor in my state-room 
that I can't read, but I arrive at San Ger6nimo at 5.30, 
which means a 4.30 rising, so good night. 

January 5th, 5.30 a.m. 

Chivela Pass in the lemon-colored dawn! I don't 
know what I went through in the night, but now I am 
descending to the Pacific. Sharp outlines of treeless, 
pinkish hills are everywhere showing themselves, with 
here and there patches of the classic and beautiful 
organos cactus. It is almost chilly. My heart and I are 

j88 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

ready for the meeting. The porter tells me there are 
only two more stations. 

San Ger6nimo, January 6th, evening. 

As the train got in to San G. I saw a very pale, very 
blue-eyed, slim, white-clad figure. New England, though 
a thousand cycles had been passed in the tropics. We 
met in silence, two full hearts, and in silence we went 
over to the house. . . . 

January 8th, evening. 

We have been walking up and down the garden 
under the big fig-tree, where a huge and very beautiful 
huacamaia, a sort of parrot, with a yellow-and-red head 
and a long blue tail makes his home. We have been 
thinking and talking in a way so foreign to the thick 
tropical darkness enveloping us. 

The sun went down on a world of ashes of roses and 
then this soft, very black night fell. At sunset we took 
a turn about the sandy, desolate-looking town. 

Women, scriptural women, were washing and bathing 
in the broad, high-banked stream. It reminded me of 
Tissot's pictures of the Holy Land — the barren banks 
of the pebbly river, the fig-trees, the little groups. The 
women wear most lovely garments as to outline. A wide 
skirt with a deep flounce is tucked up in front, for more 
ease in moving, and the falling flounce gives quite a 
Tanagra line. 

Little girls are always dressed, from their tenderest 
age, in skirts too long; but little boys go naked till they 
are eleven or twelve, and the clad and the unclad play 
about together. 

When Don Porfirio took things in hand the boys were 
made to dress to go to school, and as a last touch of fash- 
ion made to tuck their shirts inside their trousers. It 
appears, however, they only tuck them in as they 

189 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

enter the school door, pulling them out when they are 
released. 

... But Aunt L. says she is tired of it all — the 
naked children, the barren stretches, the carpe diem, the 
ultimate unrelatedness of her life to its frame, though I 
kept thinking of Henley's line, "and in her heart some 
late lark singing. " . . . 

. . , Each life, it seems to me, short or long, is 
wonderful when it becomes a perfected story, if we 
could only get it in perspective, against its own destined 
background; not blurred and mixed with other unre- 
lated lives, but by itself, in relief, as the great artists 
show their masterpieces. I can't feel the ordinariness 
of any human life. Some are dreadful, some beautiful, 
some undeveloped; but each in its way could be an 
infinitely perfect story were the artist there to record it. 

January loth, evening. 

To-day we drove over to Juchitan, the "county-seat " — 
Aunt L. to get some papers witnessed and signed at the 
jefatura, and to show me the ravages of the revolution 
of November. 

The country, as we drove along, was scorching, dry, 
light-colored, with only an occasional tree and the irre- 
pressible mesquite growing everywhere out of the sandy 
soil. We passed dreadful, screaming, wooden carts, with 
their solid wooden wheels, drawn by thin oxen, trying to 
nibble the withered grass ; and there were herds of skele- 
ton-like cattle dotted over the thorny cactus-covered fields. 

There is a great hill, Istlaltepec, which separates San 
Geronimo (fortunately, I should say) from lively Juchi- 
tan ; and on the side of it away from San Ger6nimo are 
prehistoric tracings and remains, studied, at various 
times, by various savants. It's a country with sandy, 
flat stretches and blue hills bounding them, and the river 

190 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

of Jtichitan flowing to the near Pacific. The village of 
Istlaltepec was a blaze of color, white-washed or pink- or 
blue- waoxxd^, dwellings, fig- and palm-trees, and over all 
the brilliant, blinding light. 

At Juchitan we stopped a moment at a hotel, but it 
was so dilapidated and shot with bullet marks, and so 
desolate and mournful-looking inside, that we went to a 
small, native place of refreshment, kept by a one-time 
servant of Aunt L.'s. She was old, but welcoming. Her 
daughter, a fine, tall woman of thirty or thereabouts, 
was coming down the street, with one of the great, 
painted gourds on her head filled with a variety of highly 
colored things, and with the walk of a queen, a majestic, 
gentle, swaying movement. 

They spread a spotless cloth, in a dim, sandy, red-tiled 
room with a glimpse of a palm in the old patio behind, 
that would have been a back yard, and a hideous one, 
if it had been "at home." The old woman told her ail- 
ments, and the daughter, aided by the granddaughter, 
served us a sopa de frijoles (bean soup) , a perfect ome- 
let, with a hard-crusted, pleasant-tasting bread, but 
no butter, and black coffee. 

Goat's milk was offered; the goat was in the patio — 
but "goat me no goats." 

The inhabitants of the street gathered around as we 
got into the carriage, among them an Indian woman 
with a coal-black baby — a salto atras, a "jump back," as 
they are cheerfully called, when the baby is blacker than 
the mother. We proceeded to hunt the jefe again, but 
when we got to the jefatura we were informed that he 
was still taking his siesta, so in spite of the sun we 
decided to look about the apparently deserted town. 

We stopped at another inn, where there were more 
signs of recent "regeneration" — blood-stained walls, 
mirrors broken, a billiard- table partly chopped up, and 

191 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

a piano of the "cottage" variety with its strings pulled 
out. The propietario showed us around sadly, but with 
a note of pride. His house was, for the moment, the 
"show-place" of the town. He pointed out a large, 
carefully preserved blood-spot on the floor, and kept 
repeating muy triste — but all the same there was a light 
in his eye. 

The barracks, with a large detachment of Federal 
troops, and the near-by church have great pieces chipped 
off by guns, and are embroidered by pepperings of rifle- 
fire. 

Don Porfirio nearly lost his life on his way to Don 
Alejandro de Gyves' (Aunt L.'s French friend, when she 
first came down here; he was consul, you remember, 
and they were the civilises of the place) . The Juchitecos 
tried to kill Diaz and his priest-friend, Fray Mauricio, 
near his house, and it was the village leader of that epoch 
who put his brother Felix to death. They seem to be 
consistent and persistent fighters, these Juchitecos, given 
over to libations, always fighting with somebody, but 
best enjoying it in their own bailiwick. 

The damages caused by the ambitions of the late 
Che Gomez were amply testified to. A French mer- 
chant, Senor Rome, whom Aunt L. saw about some 
business, had had his home in the environs sacked, and 
his bride had escaped with difficulty into the hills, her 
beloved trousseau and household linen, brought from 
Paris, of course, being destroyed or stolen. 

January 12th, g a.m. 

We were up with the dawn, expecting to start for 

Tehuantepec and Salina Cruz at six o'clock, taking the 

train that I had arrived on at 5.30. But this is one of the 

mornings when it won't get here till after nine o'clock. 

A hot, fierce, sandy gale is blowing, and every door 

192 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

and window in the house is rattling. We are just going 
to have a second breakfast, before starting out. The 
Chinese cook does very well, but when he was talking 
with his assistant this morning under my window, it 
sounded like the chopping of hash, literally, a conversa- 
tion of short sounds and shorter stops. 

Some fresh cocoanuts were brought in, and we have 
each had a glassful of the milky beverage. I can 
imagine how delicious it would be, come upon suddenly 
in the desert; but sitting at a table with a servant to 
pour it out, I was a little disappointed. I innocently 
came down in a hat for the journey, but it was impos- 
sible to keep it on, even sitting on the veranda. These 
winds, it appears, blow whenever they feel like it, from 
October till May. 

Now we are waiting, Aunt L. in white, with a long 
•blue chiffon veil, and I in blue, with a white veil. I fancy 
we would present a picturesque sight to the proper eyes. 

January ijth, y.jo a.m. 

At last, yesterday, the train came, and, clutching at 
our veils, we were blown into it, and after another 
unexplained delay started off in an American-built car 
like our ordinary ones. Its name was "Quincy"! In 
the old days. Aunt L. went everywhere on horseback. 
We passed various little wind-swept villages. Jordan 
was the name of one of them, seeming, in the sandy, New- 
Testament-looking spot, just the right name. Two beau- 
tiful Tehuantepec women got into the train there, kindly 
sitting near us. I was fascinated by their clothes, and 
much more interested in them than they were in us. 

The unfamiliar cadence of the Zapoteca gave them a 
complete touch of foreignness. One of them wore a 
beautiful, strange, complicated head-dress of stiff pleated 
and ruffled lace, which, I later discovered, does not at all 

i93 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

interfere with the carrying on their heads of the large, 
shallow, brightly painted gourds. Her skirts were long 
and deeply flounced, but looped up at the waist, just 
a tucking in of the lower hem of the flounce, with the 
rest of the stuff flowing away in a most lovely line. The 
other woman had on a beautiful necklace of irregular- 
shaped gold coins, and with her flashing teeth and dark 
eyes, and a brilliant, low-cut, full jacket, with a yellow 
handkerchief twisted turbanwise around her head, made 
a picture I could not take my eyes from. I felt as color- 
less as a shadow, and I told Aunt L. she looked like a 
blue-and-gray Copenhagen vase strayed into a Moorish 
room. 

Just before getting into Tehuantepec we came upon a 
beautiful grove of cocoanut-palms, high and graceful, 
above the rest of the vegetation, and the little nestling 
huts and houses. All about are jungles containing 
strange creeping things, and strange fevers and kin- 
dred creeping ills. 

As the train passed slowly down the principal street, 
it seemed to me I looked out on a race of queens, tall, 
stately, with their lovely costumes. The men seemed 
undersized and sort of "incidental" in the landscape, 
but those beautiful women walking up and down their 
sandy streets were a revelation. Aunt L. says they 
possess not only the beauty, but the brains of the race. 
Former generations of Tehuantepec men, fitter mates 
for these queens than the specimens I saw, were mostly 
killed off in the various wars of "independence," and I 
imderstand the population is kept up by fortuitous but 
willing males from other places. 

Everything was color; gorgeous splashes of yellow 
and black, and red and orange and blue against the 
shifting, sandy streets. A picturesque, creamy Palacio 
Municipal faces the plaza, and there were many 

194 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

churches — mostly showing earthquake vicissitudes. An 
old fortress, once the headquarters of Diaz, gives a 
last suggestive note to the whole. 

Glorious memories of Don Porfirio hang all over this 
part of the world, where he is adored and mourned. I 
must say Madero's face looked positively childish in 
the jefatura at Juchitan, as it confronted the stem, 
clever visage of the great Indian. Even the cheap, high- 
ly colored lithograph could not do away with his look 
of distinction and power. He was, in his young days, 
military governor of Tehuantepec, and at one time jefe 
politico. A French savant and traveler, TAbbe Brasseur 
de Bourbourg, remembering him then, said he was the 
most perfect type he had ever seen, and what he im- 
agined the kingly hero Cuauhtemoc to have been. 

When we got out of the train at Salina Cruz, a whirl- 
wind caught us and blew us down the platform. I saw 
very little of the town on the way to the British Con- 
sulate, where we were to lunch, as I was bent double 
by the wind and blinded by the sand. 

Mr. Buchanan and his wife were waiting to receive 
us. Mr. B.'s kind but shrewd blue eyes, altruistic brow, 
and welcoming hand-clasp show him at first sight to be 
what Aunt L. says he is, "pure gold." She has found 
him through years the best of friends and wisest of 
advisers. The consulate is on one of the sandy ridges 
that the town seems largely composed of, and Mrs. 
Buchanan has arranged it with taste and comfort after 
our ideas, with books and flowers and easy-chairs. But 
one look from the high bow window and you know at 
once where you are, with irrepressible cacti and palm- 
trees peeking in at you. 

I tried sitting on the sheltered side of the veranda 
for a few minutes while waiting for lunch, that my 
eyes might "receive" the Pacific, but I was glad to go 
14 195 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

in-doors again. Mr. B. says the wind blows that way- 
six or seven months in the year. Yesterday was one of 
its "best." 

Our consul, Mr. Haskell, and his wife came in later to 
tea. Their house is on another sand-ridge. After a last 
pleasant chat about our affairs, their affairs, and Mexican 
affairs we departed for our train in a great darkness 
that the stars made no impression on, the wind still 
tearing down the sandy streets. I was sorry not to 
visit the breakwaters — rompeolas, they call them — but 
would probably have been blown overboard. 

From the veranda I could see ships that had come 
from Morning Lands, riding at anchor, and later the 
sun went down in quiet majesty over the great, flat 
waters of the Pacific. I was so near the Atlantic that 
I thought of Humboldt's expression of "tearing the 
Isthmus apart, as the pillars of Hercules had been torn 
in some great act of nature," and Revillagigedo's ^ 
dream of a canal joining the Atlantic to the Pacific. 

Mr. Buchanan said the first authentic mention of the 
Isthmus was in a conversation between Montezuma and 
Cortes, as to the source of the quantities of gold the 
Spaniards saw. Cortes, who was of an inquiring turn 
of mind at any mention of the shining stuff, sent Pizarro, 
and then Diego de Ordaz (he who tried to ascend Popo- 
catepetl, and got a volcano added to his crest), to in- 
vestigate, coming here himself after the rebtiilding of 
Mexico City, en route to Honduras. He received a 
grant of the whole territory round about — "Las Mar- 
quesadas," as they are still called, after his title, Marques 
del Valle de Oaxaca (Marquis of the Valley of Oaxaca). 

This morning there is still a great rattling of the win- 
dows and the doors, but not a sign of gnat or mosquito. 
I must arise and further investigate isthmian life. The 

^ Fifty-second viceroy. 
196 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

huacamaia in the fig-tree has been making himself heard 
since dawn. I knew that if I did not tell you of Tehuan- 
tepec and Salina Cruz now, you would never hear, and 
I think what those names have meant to you during the 
years. It's all a memory of drifting sands, women as 
straight as their own palm-trees, slim, naked boys, 
fierce wind, and, in the harbor, the great port works, 
built by foreign energy and capital. 

January 14th. 

Going up, up, with a ringing in my ears out of the 
"blazing tropics" into the Tierra Templada. I am 
traveling with a parrot in a cage, and a nondescript 
little animal called, I think, a tajon, in a box with slats! 
After a very cursory survey last night, it seemed to 
belong to the 'coon family. I (who wish all animals well, 
but not too near) dimly apprehend the Merida family 
on the "Ward Line" traveHng with their parrot, when 
I consider that I was put onto the Pullman last night 
in a thick, inky, tropical darkness, with a parrot in a 
cage, and a tajon in a box with slats. The amiable 
colored porter is looking after them in the baggage-car, 
and the back veranda with the oleanders, beyond the 
dining-room, is their ultimate destination. I say noth- 
ing of the parting; Aunt L. has promised to come soon. 

The glorious Pico de Orizaba has just shown its lovely 
white head between two dissolving blue ridges. Last 
night I reread Le Journal d'Amiel, which, with Monsieur 
Le Coq, I picked up as I was leaving the house. As 
up-to-date in the jungle as anything would be. 



XVII 

Gathering clouds — "Tajada" the common disease of republics — Recep- 
tion at Chapultepec — Madero in optimistic mood — His views ■ of 
Mexico's liabilities to America 

[January iph. 

I HAVE not written since my word in the train. Too 
busy taking up daily threads, and there have been 
various dinings and lunchings out. On my return I 
found yours saying that another yellow-stamped instal- 
ment of the Arabian Nights Entertainment had come 
in on your breakfast-tray. Just put Mexicans instead 
of Persians, or whatever they were, intrigues for power 
in a Latin-American republic, instead of the intricacies 
of Haroun-al-Raschid and his califat, change your longi- 
tude, and you are "Orientee" as exactly as the pyramids! 

January igth. 
(My brother's birthday). 

To-night I am thinking of Elliott,^ and, as so often, 
before his days of physical and spiritual anguish, of the 
beautiful brow with its lines of thought, and the straight 
limbs as he moved freely among the other sons of men. 
But however dear in his activities, where pride was a 
factor, he is infinitely dearer to me now, stretched, 
broken, while others divide his garments. I ask myself 
to-night at this seventh turning of the years of pain, 
what I have not asked him. Has he drunk the chalice, 
or is he still putting it away ? 

1 Elliott Baird Coues, f Zurich, January 2, 19 13. 
198 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

His mind is naturally occupied with intellectual equa- 
tions. He as naturally rejects the mystical; there is 
nothing * ' vicarious ' ' to him. Life is only what rationally 
and definitely is to be discovered by each one, no possible 
doing of another's work. I remember quoting to him 
once, d propos of destinies and the end of the ends: 
"Ego sum alpha et omega, principium et finis," and he 
answered, "Each one is his own alpha and omega." 

I know httle, after all, of his spiritual life. His in- 
tellectual life I can read like any fine book, the techni- 
cahties of a trained mind superior to mine, inspiringly 
surmised, but not understood. He is not anima natu- 
raliter Christiana, but all the same, he must hang in his 
body on the cross of Christ crucified, and his only hope 
is in acceptance of it, along the lines of redemption, cut 
off as he is from the exercise of his splendid natural gifts. 
Results for him mean the hunting out of definite, secret 
combinations, in definite, scientific areas, and his mind 
is speculative only in an intellectual sense. 

I shall, perhaps, never know how far the "Crucified" 
has convinced him, but to-night, in thinking of him, sitio 
comes again and again to me. He has been so thirsty 
for the employment of his gifts, whose value he knows, 
in a clear, common-sense way, as he also knows what has 
not been given him, and the suppression of that gift of 
industry seems sometimes to me the most painful nail 
that holds him. Don't let what I have written make 
you unhappy. Mother-wounds bleed and burn so 
easily. 

In this quiet, beauteous night, with the patio holding 
a thick, silver moonHght spilling over the square, dark 
roof, this gorgeous Indian world in strange unrest about 
me, and I myself far enough away to see, I can speak. 
Show him this some time when he is healed. What an 
adoring sister thought cannot hurt. I unite myself 

199 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

with the millions who have had their loved ones hang- 
ing on the cross, who have heard their sitio. But as the 
emotions of each are measured by their personal expe- 
rience, this, my brother's thirst, moves me more deeply 
than even that of sacramental martyrs, who gave will- 
ingly, where he gives resistingly. "And ever3rwhere I 
see a cross where sons of men give up their lives." . . . 

January 20th. 

Things are bubbling up, boiling, geyser-like, and the 
public in a fair way to get scalded. Yesterday a bill 
was passed through Congress suspending the con- 
stitutional guarantees in various of the near-by states, 
Morelos, Tlaxcala, Puebla, Vera Cruz, and others. 

It would seem that all of Mr. Madero's chickens are 
coming home to roost, and demands for the cutting up 
of the Mexican cake sound from all sides. But what was 
easy for Madero to promise in the first passion for the 
regeneration of "his" people is proving not only im- 
practical, but impossible. What's the use, anyway, of 
giving waterless lands to Indians without farming 
implements, whose only way of irrigating would be 
prayers for moisture to pre- or post-Cortesian gods? 
Let those who have been divested of their illusions by 
hard facts govern the state, I say. 

Outside of a few political agitators, who cares for 
politics here except as a means of livelihood? What 
each one is a-fevered for is the disease commonly attack- 
ing republics. Above the Rio Grande they call it graft. 
Tajada it is called here, but the name doesn't matter. 
Republics are notoriously susceptible, and here it grows 
with a lushness comparable only to the jungle. Now 
when the reins of government are in many regions given 
over to those completely unversed in statecraft or even 
in the rudiments of "mine and thine" — a lower-class 

200 




Photograph by Kavell 



BOATS ON THE VIGA CANAL 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

contingent, naturally destructive, unimaginative, and 
completely ignorant — what can one expect? 

January 2jd. 

Aldebert de Chambrun^ called yesterday afternoon 
and came back for dinner. He is just down from Wash- 
ington, being d cheval between the two posts. It brought 
back old childhood days. Now he is in the full tide of a 
brilliant career, and scintillating with the celebrated De 
C. wit. They all have it — delightful, fin, glancing from 
subject to subject, illuminating and refreshing, giving a 
"lift" to any conversation they partake of, sometimes 
unsparing, but oftener kind. It's completely unlike the 
Spanish-American satire, which I am now beginning to 
understand, and which has its own value, though it is 
mostly cruel and demolishing, and seems to suffer with 
difficulty the neighbor's good fortune. 

January 26th. 

Yesterday was the first reception at Chapultepec since 
several weeks. We drove up during a chill dropping of 
the sun, to find quite a grouping of foreign and domestic 
powers. The Corps Diplomatique was almost complete, 
De Chambrun going with the Lefaivres. I talked with 
Calero, and Vasquez Tagle, Minister of Justice, a scholar 
of note, they tell me, deeply versed in law and of the 
highest probity. Though he had a serious face, there 
was a twinkle in his eyes. 

N. walked up and down the terrace with the President 
for a long time. He said he had a very interesting con- 
versation, accidentally turning on the claims of Ameri- 
cans who had been killed or wounded during the revo- 
lution, in El Paso and Douglas. N., thinking it well to 

^(1917) Le Colonel de Chambrun, croix de guerre, grande croix de la 
L6gion d'Honneur, cit^ many times k I'ordre de I'arm^e for deeds of 
bravery, and once, in the autumn of 191 5, " pour sa gait^ communicative 
dansles tranch(Ses" — so indicative of his special talents and great heart. 

201 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

improve the shining hour, pointed out to the President 
the special character of these claims; that during a 
revolution by which he had established himself as Presi- 
dent of Mexico his soldiers, in taking positions held by 
President Diaz's troops, had killed and wounded, on 
American soil, several peaceful American citizens. This 
constituted a claim that could not be denied by any 
international tribunal, to say nothing of the violation 
of American territory. N., finding Madero in optimis- 
tic mood (not that this is unusual) , advised him strongly 
to settle these claims, which were not large, and were 
leading to much criticism of his government, when 
things might go so pleasantly. He even quoted to him, 
"Qui cito dat bis dat." 

Madero replied: "All that will be settled in due time, 
but he did not seem to feel that it was as important as 
N. thought it was, saying, "They should have got out of 
harm's way." He also said the amounts claimed were 
exorbitant (that "madonna of the wash-tub" wanted 
one hundred thousand dollars) and he did not see how, 
without bringing the matters before a court of arbitra- 
tion, he could come to a decision as to proper compensa- 
tion. N. said that, as the question of Mexico's liability 
was certain, he need not be afraid to admit the validity 
of the claims in principle — to get a good railroad lawyer 
in Texas to find out for him how much such injuries 
would be paid for by a railroad company in event of 
such injuries occurring on a United States line, and 
then quadruple the amount. This seemed to make an 
impression on him, but in the shifting sands of Mexican 
liabilities will probably lead nowhere. 

I found myself standing by on the terrace, 

after we had taken leave of Madame Madero, and as I 
said good-by, I added, "Perhaps some day we will be 
paying our respects to you here." 

202 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

Even in the sudden dusk that had fallen I saw flash 
across his face in answer, as if written in words, the look 
that men of ambitious temperament, gifted with will 
and intelligence necessary to achievement, have had in 
all ages when the object of desire is mentioned. I 
imagine he has little hope and no illusions about the 
present situation. I am struck all the time by the 
exceeding cleverness of the clever men here. What, 
then, is the matter? 

In the evening a very pleasant dinner at the French 
Legation, illuminated by several European stars, or 
rather comets, as they quickly disappear from these 
heavens. 

The Due de R. took me out. He is small, with clever, 
unhappy eyes and the world-manner, with a hint of 
introversion, most interesting. I found, when I came 
to talk with him, that he was possessed of immense 
knowledge, rendered Uving and actuel by his personality, 
and his mentality is of that crystal type equally lucid in 
the discussion of facts or ideas. 

He has just returned from a trip through Oaxaca, 
where he has large mining and railway interests, and is 
en route for Paris, via New York. He walked home 
with us afterward, telling us about that southern country, 
which he knows as only one knows a country gone 
through on horseback, and, of course, he was turning 
the international flashlight on it all. 

Mr. de Gheest sat on my other side. He has come on 
a brief business visit with his handsome very jeunesse 
dor^e son, Henri. ^ I had never met them before, but 
his charming wife and I have listened to Wagner cycles 
together in Munich. They were married strangely 

^ Henri de G. (Lieutenant 4th Zouaves), wounded at Verdun, June 9, 
19 1 6. Croix de guerre in Belgium, 191 5, Legion d'Honneur, Verdun, 
1916, 

203 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

enough, in Mexico, and lived here for a while afterward. 
M. de G. is trained and brilliant in discussion of inter- 
national affairs, witty, risqu^, and unsparing. They 
come for lunch to-morrow. I must say I was what one 
would call extremely well placed at table! 

January 27th. 

Most amusing lunch here to-day, the GalUc sparks 
fl5dng in all directions ! The De Gheests, De Chambrun, 
the Lefaivres, AUart — and our Anglo-Saxon selves as 
listeners. 

De G. was very amusing about some business rendez- 
vous with Mexican banking associates. One important 
meeting fell through because the banker's little grand- 
daughter was having a birthday. The second came to 
grief because another luminary's wife's aunt's sister-in- 
law, or some sort of remote relation, had died, and, of 
course, it's a rather far journey from Paris to Mexico 
to find oneself tripping over family occurrences. . . . 

Then we got on to the eternal land question. There's 
a lot said about the 80 per cent, speaking out and asking 
for land, but vox populi here bears very little resemblance 
to vox dei, and it's only confusing when a few (generally 
oppressors, not oppressed) do begin to mutter. 

Madero walked to the presidency on the plank of the 
distribution of land, which he promptly and inevitably 
kicked from under him — it didn't, couldn't hold. It 
appears that he bought from one of the computed two 
hundred and thirty-two members of the family a large 
tract of land in Tamaulipas, but when it was parceled 
out it came so high that no Indian could buy it, and 
wouldn't have known what to do with it had he 
bought it. 

What he loves is his adobe hut running over with 
children and surrounded by just enough land, planted 
with com, beans, and peppers, not to starve on, when 

204 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

worked intermittently, as fancy or the rainfall indicate. 
The Indians certainly seem, under these conditions, a 
thousand times happier than our submerged tenth, but 
it's never any use comparing especially dissimilar mat- 
ters. Anybody who has been to Mexico, however, 
knows that the Indian of the adobe hut has little or no 
qualification to permit of his being changed into a 
scientific farmer by the touch of any wand. And as for 
slogans! They're all right to get into office with, but 
try tilling the soil with them! 

January 31st, evening. 
. . . And so the anniversaries come. I feel but a stitch 
between your destiny and Elim's, holding the genera- 
tions together in my turn. I am distant from you, but 
I embrace you all — the dear ones of my blood. I 
realize the fortuitousness of mine and all other human 
experiences. I have never had the things I worked for, 
prayed for, hoped for, but always something unexpected, 
which showed itself as inevitable only after it had hap- 
pened, though at the time it seemed to come as a blow 
or a gift, accidentally, unrelatedly. The path has al- 
ways lain where I never had an intimation of the tiniest 
trail. "Strange dooms past hope or fear" of which 
we all partake. . . . 



XVIII 

Washington warns Madero — Mobilization orders — A visit to the Escuela 
Preparatoria — A race of old and young — The watchword of the early- 
fathers 

FebriMiry ist. 

TO-DAY a military lunch — De Chambmn, Captain 
Sturtevant, just leaving, and our new military 
attache, Bumside, just arrived. Speculations as to the 
potentiaUties of the situation put a bit of powder into 
the menu, and the appearance of small fat ducks 
awakened a few hunting reminiscences, but mostly it 
was martial. 

In the afternoon I made some calls with De C. First 
to Mrs. Harold W.'s, where we actually found an open 
fire in the big, book-lined living-room. Some exotic- 
looking logs of a wood priceless in other climes were 
making a sweet and long-unheard, comfortable, sput- 
tering sound. She kept us waiting, though pleasantly, 
while she donned a most becoming, diaphanous, fur- 
trimmed, white chiffon tea-gown (the fair sex are apt 
to dress for De C), coming down about twenty minutes 
later, looking extremely pretty. 

Mr. W., who is associated with one of the large oil 
companies, came in just as we were leaving. There are 
few combinations he does not understand about the 
modern Mexican mentality; but he views its varied 
facets in a most enlightened way, and flings a kindly, 
inexhaustible humor about it all. 

After that De C. paid his respects to Mrs. Wilson, 

206 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

who has just returned. She was looking very handsome 
in her mourning garments, and De C. pronounced her 
decidedly ambassadorial. We then wound up at the 
French Legation, sitting for an hour in Mr. Lefaivre's 
book-filled study, warmed by a well-behaved little oil- 
stove, fingering volumes of past poets, and talking pres- 
ent politics. 

February 2d, Candlemas. 

This is the day of the signing of the Guadalupe- 
Hidalgo treaty terminating the war of 1847, which one 
can only hope will continue to bear fruit. Its motto 
is, "Peace, Friendship, Limits, Settlement," and there 
is a street named for the auspicious document. 

February sth, evening. 

Quite a flutter in town because of orders from Wash- 
ington yesterday for mobilization, or what amounts to 
it; the miHtary forces being commanded by the War 
Department to be ready for immediate concentration 
on the border. Head-lines of the newspapers are al- 
most American in size and sensation. 

The United States warns Madero that he must pro- 
tect Americans and American interests from injury by 
rebels, and Mexican ears are to the ground, listening for 
the possible tramp of American feet this side of the 
Rio Grande. The government is distinctly discomfited. 
They need to know exactly where they are "at" with 
the United States, On ne fonde pas sur un sol qui 
tremble. 

Poor Madero! Uneasy lies the head that wears the 
Mexican crown, except in the case of Don Porfirio, who 
had a genius for meeting emergencies, increased by his 
vast knowledge of men and conditions, acquired during 
the hazards of his career before he became President, 
and doubtless by the responsibilities afterward. Any- 

207 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

way, the Mexicans are stepping lively, with their weather 
eyes out. The old adage that the only thing they hate 
more than an American is two Americans seems to be 
to the fore. From the viewpoint of Mexican history, 
we do rather appear as their predestined natural enemies 
and not to be trusted along any line. 

This morning I went with Mr. de Soto to visit the 
Escuela Preparatoria. It is long since I had taken a 
tourn^e with him, and it is just as well to improve 
the shining hours. No one knows when the trump will 
sound. All is quiet in the house; N. is at the Embassy, 
and won't be back till the small, wee hours. 

The Escuela Preparatoria, most interesting, was for- 
merly the Colegio de San Ildefonso, which the Jesuits 
completed in the middle of the eighteenth century, after 
the order to consolidate their various schools and semi- 
naries into one. It covers an entire city block, and is 
so massive that, though it is somewhat out of pltimb, as 
are most of the great edifices built on this soft soil, it 
will long stay in place. 

It is built of tezontle with a wine-colored staining, 
and has noble, broad doors and rows of mediaeval- 
looking windows piercing the fagade, and altogether is 
most imposing. As we passed in under the majestic 
old doors, wide enough to admit a couple of coaches and 
four abreast, students were being drilled in the beautiful 
colonnaded patio, said to be a remnant of the immediate 
post-Cortes period. 

We went first to the Sala de Actas to see the famous 
seventeenth-century choir-stalls, once the glory of the 
San Agustin church. Everything one sees in Mexico 
has been most provokingly ripped from where it be- 
longed and put somewhere else. I got quite sad at the 
thought of the continual transfers. Something beauti- 
ful always gets lost in the changes. 

208 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

As I sat in one of the fine old seats, I discovered that 
it had bits of ''local color" in the shape of a monkey 
and a parrot, cunningly but charmingly introduced among 
more austere religious symbols; and when I folded up 
the next seat I found a quite lovely carving, on the under 
side, so that it looked equally well in use or disuse. 

As we went up the broad stairway there was a scuffle 
of young feet along one of the beautiful old arched cor- 
ridors, and a hurrying from one class-room to another, 
just as so many generations before this had scuffled and 
hurried, pushing on and being replaced. The founda- 
tion of the school as it now is dates from Juarez's 
time, and was founded by a man called Gabino Barreda, 
a disciple of Comte. Many of the Mexican elite who 
did not or would not send their sons abroad were edu- 
cated here. Men like Justo Sierra and Limantour 
passed through it, too. 

When we got up on to one of the great flat roofs, by 
way of various interesting bits of stairs, the most 
glorious sight was spread out. The volcanoes had such 
long mantles of snow that they seemed encircled and 
united by the same band of white. About us lay the 
city with its sun-bathed domes and roofs, and Mr. de 
S. quoted me the old lines, "Si a morar en Indias Jueras 
que sea donde los volcanes vieres." ^ 

I was horrified by the appearance of the Church of 
Nuestra Senora de Loreto, built in the last century, 
which was as desorienUe and uncertain-looking as Mexi- 
can politics. Mr. de S. said the sinking was not caused 
by any disturbance of nature, but rather of man. There 
was a difference of opinion among high ecclesiastical 
authorities as to the materials to be used, so they decided 
the issue by constructing one of the walls of hard stone, 

^ "If thou goest to dwell in the Indies let it be where thou seest the 
volcanoes." 

209 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

and the other of a more porous kind, with the result 
that one side began straightway to sink. Now the 
dome seems to be pulled down over it, the whole look- 
ing as if it might collapse entirely at any minute; so 
we decided to visit it immediately, though it's always 
a wrench to tear oneself from the enchantment of the 
view in Mexico. 

Journeying up from Tehuantepec, I came across a 
passage in Amiel where he calls a paysage un etat 
d'dme not an etat d' atmosphere. Here it is both, for the 
landscape is always wrapped in a wonder-working, al- 
most tangible air, which is able to induce something 
mystical in the most practical or commercial soul. 
When we descended into the streets on our way to 
Nuestra Senora de Loreto they seemed particularly hu- 
man and detailed, coming from that height, where 
everything had been a splendid ensemble. The dip in the 
long, little plaza is so apparent that you feel you may 
get the whole structure on your head. It was full of 
beggars hovering near venders of unhealthy, dusty, 
highly colored sweets, or hawking hard green fruits 
about. A green lime or orange can be a repast here. 
At the church doors the beggars were lying or sitting 
about, just living in their own particularly unconscious 
way, descendants of those sin derechos y hechos of the old 
days, and not a bit better off now, in spite of all the 
"Libertad" and "Fratemidad" and decrying of Span- 
ish and ecclesiastical government. 

A beautiful little boy, covered partially with the re- 
mains of a scarlet zarape and tattered white drawers 
which revealed rather than concealed his brown hips, 
carried, slung over his shoulders, two lively, coal- 
black hens that he had evidently been sent out to vend. 
Accompanying him was an old blind woman clutching 
at a corner of the zarape. xt tags at one's heart so, 

2IO 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

all this beauty and all this misery. We gave them 
"centavitos," and the little boy's flashing smile and the 
droning voice of the old woman — "Dios te lo pague, 
nina" — as she heard the sound of the money, were 
equally pathetic and mysterious. 

So often it seems a race of very old and very young 
here, nothing of the long maturity we know. An In- 
dian with gray hair, however, is a rarity; some atavism 
when one sees it; and as they preserve their muscular 
activity till a great age, it's impossible to say how old, 
but the race gives a continual impression of just old 
and young. 

February 6th. 

Another agreeable dinner at the French Legation last 
night. Maurice Raoul DuvaP and his English-Ameri- 
can wife recently arrived, struck a charming note of the 
great and far world. He is a very tall, very good-looking 
Frenchman, a polo-player and sportsman of note, hop- 
ing to remake, with interests here, a lost fortune. 

An atmosphere of recent married happiness hung 
about them, with the romantic adventure of Mexico as 
background. 

Hie wife was handsome and sparkling in a white- 
throated way, wearing a very good black dress and 
wedding jewels. It was quite a treat to see something 
new, we are all sick of one another's things. I am sure 
if she had worn the waistband outside one would have 
seen the word "Worth." They are to be here some 
time, and will contribute to the gaiety of the nations 
assembled in the vale of Anahuac. 

Count du Boisrouvray^ took me out. He is here to 

* Maurice Raoul Duval, "f fallen on the field of honor, Verdun, May 
5, 1916. 

2 Count du Boisrouvray, 14th Hussards, promu chef de bataillon pour 
faits de guerre. Chevalier de la Legion d'Honneur, croix de guerre, 
many citations; the first to enter Thiaumont when it was retaken. 
15 211 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

look after the large estates of his wife, who is now in 
Prance, and whose mother, nee De la Torre, is Mexican. 
Madame Lefaivre tells me she is very beautiful and 
gifted, the mother of many little children. Monsieur 
du B. is musical — plays the violoncello like an artist. 
A day or two ago, when I dropped into Madame Simon's 
late in the afternoon, they were playing Mozart beauti- 
fully. The clever Frenchman's clever eye is on the 
Mexican situation, and finds nothing encouraging, 
' ' plutot le commencement de la fin. ' ' Though the French 
may line every subject, conversationally, with the agree- 
able color of some theory, their minds are so constructed 
that they can't reject facts. 

February yth. 

Until the small, wee hours last night I was reading 
a relation of the foundation of the bishoprics of Tlax- 
cala, Michoacan, and Oaxaca in the sixteenth century, 
printed from the manuscripts in the collection of Don 
Joaquin Garcia Icazbalceta, and published a few years 
ago by his son, Don Luis Garcia Pimentel, possessed of 
the finest Hispano-American library in Mexico. 

The story of difficulties surmounted, the dangers over- 
come, the founding and building of the various churches 
and schools and hospitals, is enthralling, and made me 
think a little of the Livre des Fondations of Saint 
Theresa, that we read at Worishofen with so much pleas- 
ure. The account of the baptism of the four chiefs of 
Tlaxcala, who had such distinguished godfathers as 
Cortes, Pedro de Alvarado, Gonzalo de Sandoval, and 
Cristobal de Olid, make a page of the realistic school of 
to-day seem like a record of tawdry dreams. 

The faces of these early bishops and priests of Mexico 
are extraordinary. The life is concentrated in and be- 
tween the eyes, the foreheads are those of thinkers, the 

212 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

lines about the mouths, compassionate, yet unflinching, 
are those of workers, and, however different the actual 
structure of the faces, the expression is the same. I 
found a couple of old engravings the other day, one of 
Las Casas, and one of Ripalda, yellowed, stained, evi- 
dently torn out of some old book. The tale of labors 
and difficulties overcome is stamped upon their faces. 
Their watchword was "Al rey infinitas tierras, y a 
Dios infinitas almas, ''^ and I can't but think that our 
political slogans seem a bit shabby in comparison. Our 
Monroe doctrine, which controls their destinies, our 
dollar diplomacy, and all the rest, make but a poor 
figure. 

Evening. 

Under the impression of the foundations of the 
Bishops of Tlaxcala, etc., I strayed into the Biblioteca 
Nacional on my way home after some errands. It is 
what once was one of the most beautiful churches in 
Mexico, San Agustin, built at the end of the seventeenth 
century. 

What remains of the old atrium is rather spoiled by 
being inclosed with a high iron railing; but in it stands 
a statue of my friend Humboldt, whose soul perceived the 
"splendors of this Indian world." It is a most charm- 
ing building to come upon in those busy, modem streets, 
where bankers raise and lower the exchange, and the 
"interests" have their visible habitats. One is thank- 
ful for every good old stone that has been left upon an- 
other good old stone in Mexico, and the old building 
has a beautiful tiled dome in the Mudejar style (Moorish- 
Christian), with arabesque designs and a charming fa- 
gade. The modem iron railing is decorated with busts 
of the Mexican great, in early- Victorian style, from the 
days of Nezahualcoyotl down to Alaman. But the 

* "For the king infinite lands, and for God infinite souls." 
213 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

beautiful old basso rilievo of San Agustin over the main 
door tells you unmistakably that the ages of faith were 
also the ages of art. 

I wrestled with the catalogues, and found they always 
referred me to others of various dates, like 1872 and 
1 88 1. I spoke with several very vague and exceedingly 
polite officials. I dare say my Spanish contributed to 
the vagueness. The library is very rich in books relat- 
ing to the labors of the Church in New Spain, and in 
general of the history of the post-Conquest period. The 
huge reading-room was once the great central nave of 
the church, and a flood of white light pours in through 
high octagonal windows. Any time any one moved or 
walked there was the sound as of an army. It was 
the wooden floor acting in unison with the unsurpassed 
acoustic qualities of the nave. 

Over all was a still, deathly cold that froze the gray 
matter stiff. Some students, looking a lead color under 
their rich, natural tone, were noisily turning over the 
pages of their books, and an old man with a green shade 
and a magnifying glass was looking at a manuscript. 
Otherwise empty space. The reading Mexicans are, I 
fancy, mostly engaged in trying to sustain or destroy 
Madero. 

In 1867 Benito Juarez issued the decree which estab- 
lished the Biblioteca Nacionai, and they got the books 
from the university, and various monasteries and col- 
leges were also emptied of their treasures. The night 
library was formerly a chapel of the third order of San 
Agustin, and I was told by some sort of attendant only 
remotely interested in the world of books that there was 
once a celebrated old walnut choir, with the richest carv- 
ings, which I could now find in the Escuela Preparatoria. 
It reminded me of the catalogues and he looked like what 
in "The Isles" Humboldt says they call un monsieur 

214 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

passable. He thinks he's white — you know he isn't ; but 
one leaves it at that. 

Life is short, even here, and art is long, and I think I 
will send to New York for anything they have in it that 
I might want. 

February yth. 

Orozco denies any disloyalty to Madero, or that 
Chihuahua is about to secede, but he does say in Span- 
ish, probably still less elegant, something to the effect 
that Madero can't do the "Mexican trick." 

When Madame Madero called yesterday her rather 
halting remark that Orozco es muy leal (Orozco is very 
loyal) was unconvincing, but of course they must hope. 
She was in dark, rich garments, somewhat too heavy in 
cut and texture for her size, with a very imposing plume- 
loaded hat over her pale, tired face. She now wears a 
beautiful string of pearls. All the life is in her vigilant 
eyes, and if there is an iron hand in the family, it is hers. 
Madame Ernesto Madero, very pretty in the dark, 
flashing-eyed, color-coming-and-going-way, also called 
and said, as a charming girl might have said it, that 
she was muy paseadora. 

Vasquez Gomez, a day or two since, proclaimed him- 
self provisional President, and has quite a tidy follow- 
ing, with the "seat" of government in Juarez. It would 
seem the presidential bee buzzes under any hat! More 
and more I ask myself. Why try government according 
to our pattern? I can't see that ours is just the cut for 
them. 

There is another cold wave, or onda fria, as they call 
the dreadful things. This one timed itself for a little 
dinner I was giving for Mr. Potter and Mr. Butler. The 
dining-room, into which I cast a glance before going to 
the drawing-room, looked Yery conducive with its flow- 
ers and shaded lights. The stove appeared a model of 

215 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

heat-giving. Well, we had just got to the fish when it 
not only emitted a column of smoke, but it blew up! 

It was removed, and after a disturbed interval the 
dinner proceeded to the accompaniment of polite sug- 
gestions as to the removal of "blacks" that descended, 
from time to time, on the faces and shoulders of the 
diners. As we were leaving the dining-room somebody- 
remarked that there was a smell of burning, and in the 
drawing-room the oil-stove's mate was found to be doing 
the most awful things in the line of Popocatepetl, when 
Cortes passed by the first time. It was also removed. 

Madame Lefaivre suggested at this point that we had 
better frankly accept le temps comme le hon Dieu Vavait 
envoy e, so scarfs and shawls were brought, with sugges- 
tions of overcoats. Everybody began to smoke and we 
got out the bridge- tables. They refused to play bridge, 
however, with my nice Vienna packs of cards, which are 
innocent of numbers at the comers. After a while, with 
the smoking, the process of digestion, the jokes, the 
companionship in misery, things got better, and the 
little party broke up at only one o'clock, very late for 
Mexico. They said they were too cold to go home. It 
was a fine sample of the "tropics." 

At Von H.'s dinner for the Minister of Foreign Affairs, 
the other night, it was even worse. His large drawing- 
rooms are to the north, though his stoves were working 
auj commando. After the long and elaborate dinner, 
during which the fair sex were visibly "all goose-flesh," 
we had our wraps brought and tmned up our fur collars, 
which put a different complexion on events and ladies. 



XIX 

A tragic dance in the moonlight— Unveiling George Washington's statue 
—The Corps Diplomatique visits the Pyramids of San Juan Teoti- 
huacan — Orozco in full revolt 

February loth. 

^XT'E were all awakened last night by a terrible, inhu- 
V V man, mewing sound coming from the patio. It 
reminded us of "The White Leper" of Kipling. The 
moon was chiseling every stone and plant in the court- 
yard; a small light was in the porter's room, where a 
struggle seemed to be going on. All of a sudden a tall, 
stark-naked Indian, with his arms held stiff above his 
head, burst out and began to dance about in the moon- 
Hght, making strange passes and dippings of the body 
before something imaginary; there was a sort of sacri- 
ficial gesturing to his madness. 

N.^ got his revolver and started down-stairs, fearing 
homicidal mania, when suddenly he threw himself in a 
corner, huddled up, and became unconscious. After a 
long delay the men came from the manicomio (mad- 
house) and his body was picked up like a loose bundle; 
but I felt as if I never needed to read about prehistoric' 
sacrificial rites— I had seen them in the moonlight, in 
the person of that poor Indian, gone insane. 

I went down to see Magdalena, his mother, later on. 
She was sitting with her head in her hands in the little 
porter's lodge, surrounded by two or three of his children. 
He is a "widower." When she saw me she suddenly 
cried out, ''Senora, mi hijo! mi hijo!" and her old eyes 

217 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

looked at me with the mother-look of helpless compas- 
sion for suffering sons through the ages — tearless, per- 
sonal, tortured. I was troubled and saddened as I came 
up the stairway into the sunny veranda. But at the 
potent hour of pulque I heard sounds which, though not 
of mirth, seemed consoling. 

February 13 th. 

Pleasant luncheon here today — the Raoul Duvals, 
and De Chambrun, who is returning to Washington 
to-morrow, after which we all predict a total eclipse of 
the sun. The more I see of him the more I appreciate 
that French imaginative, speculative, analytical, yet con- 
structive type of mind, with its flashing play of wit, its 
easy intellectuality, always ready to look at the most 
personal thing impersonally; this last so precious in the 
interchange of thought; and it's all very much in relief 
against this Latin-American background, where every- 
thing is always passionately personal. 

De C. told us of his visit to the prison of San Juan 
Ulua, when he was last in Mexico. Evidently it is a 
horror. Madero had sworn that one of his first acts 
would be to do away with it, but there it is still. Nobody 
really trusts the situation here. Some one remarked that 
the quiet before something dreadful is going to happen 
is what is known as peace in Mexico. De C. had been off 
for a few days with the army, in the adjacent scenes of 
action. A general showed him his school medals by the 
camp-fire. One was for French, of which he did not 
know a word; the other was for geography, and he 
seemed to hear of Morocco for the first time by that 
same firelight. However, all he really needs to know is 
where the Zapatistas are. 

The R. D.'s have taken a furnished house in Calle 
Dinamarca. Everybody flies, as soon as possible, from 
the evident evils of the hotels to any kind of unknown. 

218 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

They came in, looking so smart, she in a dark-blue tailor 
and a chic, flower-covered purple hat. 

The plateau is thawed out again, and we will have no 
more cold this year. They tell me March and April are 
the warmest months here, before the rains begin to 
announce themselves. 

February igth. 

This morning, in a flood of sun, but with a "tang" in 
the early air, we went to meet Aunt L., and now she is 
comfortably resting with a book, not about Mexico. 

February 22d. 

This auspicious day was celebrated here by the 
unveiling of the large monument in white marble of 
George Washington in the Glorieta Dinamarca. The 
official Mexican world was out in force, also the diplo- 
mats. All the Americans in town, in whose hearts he 
was, indeed, first that day, watched the falling of the 
cloth from the face and form of the immortal George. 
Platforms had been built around the circle, the police 
kept beautiful order, and it might have been an "un- 
veiling" anywhere, except for the outer fringe of peaked- 
hatted pelados (skinned ones), who gather wherever any 
are gathered in any name. 

I was deeply thrilled as the well-known features showed 
themselves, and our national air, beautifully played, rose 
to the shining heavens. The figure is standing, clad in 
a long cloak, and can be seen from the four streets 
leading into the circle.^ The President gave a short 
address, and Mr. Wilson made one of his finished speeches 
— a happy combination of Stars and Stripes and Eagle 
and Cactus. I saw Aunt L.'s eyes fill as our looks met. 

^ This statue was thrown down and dragged through the city the night 
of the breaking o2 of relations between the United States and Mexico 
(April 23, 1914). 

219 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

They do stir one, these commemorations in foreign lands, 
where one feels to its fullest the privilege and pride of 
participation in a great citizenship. 

February 2Sth. 

Yesterday I had a luncheon for Aunt L. Baroness 
Riedl, Madame Chermont, Mrs. Cummings and Mrs. 
Chemidlin (these latter friends of many years), Mrs. 
Brown, Mrs. Kilvert, and Mrs. Hudson came. In the 
evening we dined at the Embassy. I thought it warm 
and spring-like, but Aunt L., though piled with furs, 
nearly froze. It evidently isn't with impunity that one 
comes up from the tropics to visit a niece on the plateau. 

February 28th. 

I am feeling a bit fagged this morning after the inter- 
esting, but quite exhausting, official "picnic" yesterday, 
to the celebrated pyramids of San Juan Teotihuacan, 
offered to the Corps Diplomatique by the Gohierno. 

We met at the Buena Vista station for an 8.30 special 
train — a rather motley assemblage of some fifty or sixty 
persons, those who had the habit of jaunts in their 
blood, and those who had not. 

The weather was the usual lustrous thing, only to be 
matched in beauty by what we had had the day before, 
and what we will have to-morrow. I looked about the 
various groups of senoras and wondered would they 
hold out, their garbs not being for such occasions. 

One of the ladies asked me and Baroness Riedl if we 
were sisters. We look more unlike than Thorwaldsen's 
"Night and Morning," but we decided afterward that, 
as we had on tailored suits, white blouses with lace- 
trimmed jabots, small hats, neat veils, tan shoes, and 
parasols, we must have presented a certain superficial 
likeness of origin and atmosphere. 

The Mexican women were mostly dressed in semi- 

22Q 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

evening gowns, spangles, paillettes, passemeterie, pre- 
senting all sorts of touches, as they caught the light, 
not connected in the Anglo-Saxon mind with picnics. 
They also wore small, high-heeled, patent-leather slip- 
pers, and were accompanied by ninos of various ages. 

You go out of the city by the hill of Tepeyac, where 
the Church of the Virgin of Guadalupe is. All along the 
road are still to be seen dilapidated "Stations of the 
Cross," relics of the viceregal days, among the shunt- 
ing tracks and railway-supply buildings. 

There was a settling down of the elements of the 
party, foreign and domestic naturally gravitating to 
their kind, as we rolled out. The President and his wife, 
his mother and father, his two sisters, Madame Gustavo 
Madero, and various other members of the family were 
with us. Also the Vice-President and his family. After 
about an hour we got to the little village of San Juan 
Teotihuacan, where all sorts of venders of all sorts of 
antiquities, little clay pots, masks, bits of obsidian, 
charms of bloodstone, were ready for us. We climbed 
down the steep embankment and got into various ' ' buck- 
boards," I suppose they would call themselves, without 
any "buck," however, which were waiting to take us 
across a sandy stretch to the pyramids, which had 
seemed only insignificant mounds as we steamed over 
the glittering plain. 

Our first destination was the Pyramid of the Sun, 
gigantic, impressive, as we neared it, and one of the 
few things giving a feeling of stability that I have seen 
in Mexico. The Minister of Public Instruction and 
Fine Arts, as we started out over the Path of the Dead, 
(Micoatl) , was the cock of that special walk, almost put- 
ting Madero in the shade, figuratively, however, as 
there was not a tree within miles. The two principal 
pyramids, dwellings of the gods, were dedicated to Tona- 

221 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

tiuh, the sun, and Miztli, the moon, but there are many 
smaller pyramids, supposed to be dedicated to various 
stars, and which once served as burial-places for remote, 
illustrious dead. 

As we climbed up the great hewn steps, grass-grown, 
with all sorts of cacti making unexpected appearances, 
I could but think of the small mark the generations 
make in passing, and "Why so hot, my little man?" 

When N. started up with Baroness R., one of the ladies 
said to her: "Why are you going up, and what will you 
do when you get up?" Baroness R. said, "We are 
going to take a look about, and come down." She 
glanced rather desperately at the pyramid and then 
at her tiny, patent-leather-slippered feet, which must 
have been in a condition fit for sacrifice in that broiling 
sun. She finished by sitting down on the first step with 
some other high-heeled ladies, with the same feelings 
and the same clothes. 

It was a magnificent sight, once up there; the solitary 
eminence on which we stood put every thing in a won- 
derful perspective. Formerly on the apex of the pyramid 
there had been a splendid temple, containing a gigantic 
statue of the sun, made of a single block of porphyry, 
and ornamented with a heavy breastplate of gold. But 
I was more interested in Madero, once, at least, a demi- 
god, viewing from this great height kingdoms and prin- 
cipalities given into his keeping. 

His expression was soft and speculative as he gazed 
about him, not of one who is tempted to gather things 
to himself, for himself; and I must say that, as I looked, 
I entirely acquitted him of personal ambitions. He 
seemed strangely removed from the difficulties of his 
situation, as materially and spiritually lifted above 
them as he was above the shining plain; but in the 
city, glistening in the distance, intrigues and dissolv- 

222 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

ing forces of all kinds were at work against him. The 
far and splendid hills to which he perhaps may some 
day flee showed horizons of cobalt and verde antique, 
and they, as well as we, were folded in a dazzling 
ambience. 

However, you have little time for dreams on official 
picnics — for just as I was, so to speak, partie — polite yet 
firm-willed photographers began to shove the living 
units into their proper places, with a special rounding 
up of the high-lights of the assembly, domestic and 
foreign, after which we descended. 

I had my usual horrid sensation of falling as I looked 
from that great height dovv^n those huge steps between 
me and the not less solid earth. Mr. Madero gave me 
his arm and, somehow, I got down. A fierce sun was 
shining on us and reverberating from the dry plain as 
we made our way to the newly opened museum, where 
a very complete collection of objects, found around the 
pyramids, was carefully arranged in handsome glass 
cases ; for some years, so el Senor Ministro told me, the 
government had been excavating, and countless terra- 
cotta masks, similar to those which abounded on the 
Isla de las Mugeres, off the coast of Yucatan, had been 
unearthed. There was also a beautiful collection of jade 
objects, effigies, and masks of dead rulers; on the brow 
of one of the finest specimens was a diadem, or copilla, 
as the ancient Mexican crown was called. 

If I hadn't been simply done up by the heat I would 
have been most interested in going over the collection, 
for the endless terra-cotta heads and masks, with entirely 
different features, mark the different races who have 
inhabited the plateau. My friend Humboldt, with whom 
I spent the evening, also the early night hours, and who 
had done the same thing just a hundred years ago, says 
the teocalli w^ere orientes as exactly as the Egyptian 

223 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

and Asiatic pyramids, and that the race the Spaniards 
found there attributed them to a still more ancient race, 
which would place them in the eighth or ninth century. 
They are composed of clay mixed with gravel, and cov- 
ered with a wall of amygdaloid. What seems to be a 
system of pyramids is disposed in very large streets, fol- 
lowing exactly the meridians, and which end at the four 
faces of the two great pyramids. 

After an hour in the museum, which seemed quite an 
hour, I must say, there was a welcome announcement of 
lunch, and we walked along a path called "Camino de 
Muertos,"^ "walk of the /ia//-dead," one of the exhausted 
foreigners called it, and descended into the cool dimness 
of a great and beautiful grotto, where long tables, flower- 
decorated and elaborately spread, awaited us. 

The Corps Diplomatique sat at the President's table; 
Von Hintze was between Baroness Riedl and myself, and 
an unidentified Mexican official or member of the dynasty 
was on my other side. The lunch was sent out from 
town by Sylvain and was most excellent. We could 
look out at a great patch of blue sky, and fringing the 
brilliant edges of the grotto were various cacti and rows 
of peaked hats and a single graceful pepper-tree. The 
Indians always spring up, as if by magic, from any 
place where there is a gathering. 

N. and Riedl, instead of taking seats at the President's 
table, sat at a small table back of us, and we knew from 
their unseemly mirth that they weren't talking about 
the antiquities or improving their minds in any way. 

After luncheon we all repaired to the Pyramid of the 

Moon, which nobody had the energy to ascend, going 

over a sidewalk made of ancient cement still bearing 

traces of red color. One of the smaller mounds had been 

opened by Sefior Batres a few years before, and he found 

1 Pathway of the dead. 
224 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

around and over it a building now called the "House of 
the Priests." 

At this special place even the most enterprising of the 
foreigners began to wilt, and some polychrome frescoes 
are the last definite impression I received before we 

started back to the buckboards. The minister, 

sitting too near the wheel, to politely make room, got 
jolted out, but we picked him up and soothed him by 
singing his national anthem as we went toward the 
train. 

It was a long day, but one to be kept in memory with 
its background of obsidian, red clay masks, idols of 
jade, and works of a past race against which Mexican 
history continues to unfold itself. 

February 2gth. 

It is not leap-year which is occupying our thoughts 
down here. Orozco is openly in full revolt. With him 
are some thousands of troops and the whole state of 
Chihuahua. 



XX 

Madero shows indications of nervous tension — Why one guest of Mexico's 
President did not sit down — A novena with Madame Madero — Pict- 
ure-writing on maguey — Picnic at El Desierto — San Fernando 

March 3d. 

YESTERDAY Mr. Taft issued a wise proclamation 
directing citizens of the United States to comply 
strictly with the neutrality laws between our country 
and Mexico till there is a change in conditions, which 
gave rise to various expressions of satisfaction at a large 
luncheon at Madame Simon's. 

I sat by Mr. Chevrillon, a French mining expert since 
many years in Mexico, and also having a wide experience 
of our own southwest. He told strange mining stories; 
one about an ancient whip he once found in a remote 
chamber in an old mine, with a lash so long that it was a 
mystery how it could have been used in the small spaces. 
A detail, but it gave me a sudden, shivering glimpse into 
the sufferings of subject peoples. However, it's no use 
throwing stones at Spain for not having practised polit- 
ical liberty in those centuries. As we know it to-day, it 
was nowhere existent. It had not even begun to glim- 
mer on any horizon, and certainly Mexico has Hved 
through a terrible century since its light dawned on her. 

March 7th. 

At the Chapultepec reception to-day one felt the 
tension. 

Madero was walking up and down the terrace with 

226 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

his new private secretary, Gonzales Garza, clad in some 
sort of a dark suit, with a conspicuous peacock-blue vest, 
doubtless a family offering. His glance was more than 
usually visionary and introverted, his unacquisitive 
hands were behind his back; but can Mexico be gov- 
erned by a well-disposed President from Chapultepec 
terrace? He has a way of avoiding facts, which, in the 
end, are sure to hit somebody as the national destinies 
take their course. One can only hope his sterling hon- 
esty will see him safely through the snares that are 
spread everywhere. 

As I talked with him on the sim-flooded terrace above 
the gorgeous valley, with all Mexican creation at our feet, 
though he had his usual smile, I noted many wrinkles, 
as he stood bareheaded, and it was difficult to fix his 
eye, an honest eye. 

The new Minister of the Interior, Flores Magon, took 
me. out to tea. He is a huge, square-faced Zapotec 
Indian, rather portly — which they rarely are — with 
straight, black hair, a strong jaw, and observant eyes. 
The foreigner on the other side of me — whether his tale 
be true or apocryphal I know not — related that on his 
last visit to Madero, as he was about to sink into an 
inviting armchair he was hastily asked not to take it, 
for at that moment it was occupied by George Wash- 
ington! As his surprised person was suspended over 
another and was half-way down, he was waved to still 
a third, for in the second was sitting Jean Jacques 
Rousseau! After which, fearful of incommoding other 
illustrious dead, he remained standing. Si non e Verdi 
e bene Trovatore. 

Madero has a certain natural inclination toward the 

French, fostered by those years at the Versailles Lycee, 

without, however, any of their logic or genius for facts, 

and he often converses vaguely, but admiringly, about 

i6 227 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

the French Revolution. They say he sleeps with Le 
Contrat Social under his pillow. He has not a single 
suspicion of the Anglo-Saxon mind, nor of that com- 
posite and extremely personal affair we call the national 
conscience; and still he is supposed to govern his coun- 
try after our pattern. The whole seemed unrelated to 
the situation. 

In fact, I told Aunt L., as we came away, that I didn't 
think the loggias and terraces are good for his psychol- 
ogy. You have no need for the firm hand when you are 
looking out upon a valley swimming in a strange trans- 
parency, where the hills seem of purest mother-of-pearl, 
inevitably leading to golden streets, not black heaps of 
earth peopled by passionate, starving human beings. 

Am now off to the Red Cross. It is temporarily sta- 
tioned in a beautiful old Spanish house, with a garden, 
and a large patio and fountain in the middle, and doors 
opening on to it, in the Calle Alamo, a once fashionable 
part of town. Mexico was almost the last country to 
join the Red Cross organization. 

March nth, evening. 

At the reception at Chapultepec I found I had, by a 
curious chance, arranged with Madame Madero to make 
a novena with her to the Guadalupe shrine. Whatever 
rehance she may have had on accidental spirits in the 
past, I now see her having recourse to the one Great 
Spirit, the Cause of Causes. I don't feel unassailable by 
the chances of life myself. 

She has been coming for me the past three mornings 
in the big presidential auto. N. and Aunt L. are thank- 
ful to see me return; they think a bomb, aimed at the 
conveyance full of piety, woiild not be beyond the 
bounds of possibility. I am sure Madame M. would 
do the distance gladly on her knees, instead of in the 
big car; her passionate solicitude for her husband's 

228 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

welfare has no limits, and she means to compel what- 
ever powers there be to take the kingdom of heaven by 
violence, if need be. Like all people who are playing 
with great chances, she is, I fancy, superstitious. She 
arises very early, attends Mass, begins her day's work, 
and is at our house from the castle at 9.30, apparently 
going the rest of the day at the same high pressure. 

I gather they prefer De la Barra not to return ; indeed, 
the faces of any darken at the mention of other possible 
candidates for public favor. Jealousies and struggles of 
individual ambition are more evident than struggles for 
principles in this most personal of all games, Mexican 
politics. 

There was not a hint of any political happening on 
her part, nor on mine, as I got into the motor this morn- 
ing. She told me about the six children they have 
adopted at one time or another, according to various 
exigencies ; all the children too small to make an appear- 
ance, however, on the presidential stage. 

An Indian boy ran across our path and was knocked 
down by the auto, just as we were going through the 
teeming suburb of Peralvillo. In a moment a crowd 
gathered about us, giving vent to growls. We stopped 
and got out of the motor. The boy, fortunately, was 
not injured, and he was wearing few garments to dust. 
We gave him money, and the mollified parents, pulque- 
eyed and battered, received him tenderly, plus money 
and minus hurt, so we were able to drive on through 
the soft, shimmering morning, out the broad Calzadato 
to Our Lady of Guadalupe. . . . 

We came back through the old Plaza of Tlaltelolco, 
where the Church of Santiago still exists, though now 
the yards of the National Railways surround it, and it 
is used to store cotton and grain, the customs, too, 
having offices there. It was formerly connected with 

229 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

Mexico City by canals instead of these dusty streets, 
getting dustier every year, as the volume of water 
decreases in the valley. 

Here Cortes found the great market he described in 
his letter to Charles V., and here Fray Gante taught the 
Indians for fifty years. Here, too, the first Bishop of 
Mexico is said to have carried into effect his unfort- 
unate idea of gathering a pile of Aztec hieroglyphics, 
on cotton, maguey, or deerskin; and piling them moun- 
tain high; according to the historian, Ixtlilxochitl, he 
had them set afire. Now there are only squalid rem- 
nants of that civilization, here and there ancient comer- 
stones on which dilapidated mesones, lodging-houses for 
men and beasts, show themselves. 

But, somehow, when one peeps in at the little court- 
yards the life itself doesn't seem so squalid. Any patio 
you look into has a bit of color in the way of a child or a 
flower or a bright bit of garment. I thought of the three 
patrician women who, during the siege of Mexico, stood 
for several days up to their necks in water with only a 
handfiil of com for nourishment, and of the last and 
noble Aztec king, Cuauhtemoc,^ who, at the hour of 
Vespers, fell into the Spaniards' hands, and was brought 

^ This is the prince who was taken by Cortes on his Honduras expedi- 
tion with the kings of Texcoco and Tacuba. As punishment for plot- 
ting to escape they were hanged head downward from a tree in the 
wilderness. Humboldt saw this represented in a hieroglyphic painting 
in the convent of San Felipe Neri, and even Bernal Diaz relates that the 
companions in arms of Cort6s were "much shocked" at the occurrence. 

Now Cuauhtemoc stands in gold and bronze in one of the glorietas 
of the beautiful Paseo, high on a marble column, with Aztec devices on 
base and plinth, where he can keep watch on his hrUs and volcanoes and 
lakes. He sustained the siege of Mexico for seventy-nine days, and the 
inscription says, "to the memory of Cuauhtemoc and those warriors who 
fought heroically in defense of their country MDXXI." Diaz and his 
then Minister of Public Works, Riva Palacio, MDCCCLXXVH, ordered 
it to be erected, and later it was finished under Manuei Gonzalez and his 
Minister of Public Works, MDCCCLXXXII. 

230 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

to Cortes as he was standing on the terrace of a house 
in Tlaltelolco, watching the operations. 

Cortes asked him to be seated, but the young king 
put his hand on a poignard that Cortes carried in his 
belt and asked him to kill him, because, having done 
what he could to save his kingdom and his people, it 
only remained for him to die. He was the son-in-law 
of Montezuma, and was escaping in a canoe with his 
young wife, just emerging into womanhood, when he 
was captured. History is so evident here and so in 
relief — I have never lived in a place where the past 
follows and arrests one as here, though I doubt if Madame 
Madero, trying to pierce the heavy curtain of the future, 
gave it a thought this morning. 

March 12th. 

The Blair Flandraus are here now, visiting Madame 
Bonilla. He is the "brother" in that delightful book, 
Viva Mexico, that I sent you, and meeting him made 
me remember a line where one brother says to the 
other brother, "What very agreeable people one runs 
across in queer, out-of-the-way places," meaning them- 
selves, and quite warranted, as I have discovered. 

I had a luncheon to-day for Mrs. Flandrau, and 
Madame Bonilla, Madame del Rio, Madame Simon, and 
Madame Scherer came. In the afternoon bridge at 
Madame Bonilla's, at which husbands and also the 
unattached and solitary appeared. In Mexico, when 
you have spent one part of the day with people, it isn't, 
as in more conventional climes, a reason for avoiding 
them the other hours. 

We are all rather amused by the visible romance of 
a young querido (lover) who stands for hours leaning 
against the garden rail of a big, handsome house in the 
Calle Liverpool, wherein his inamorata dwells. The irate 
father has just built a trellis above the wall, gardeners 

231 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

are busy, and the quickly growing vines will soon make 
it a rather bootless pastime for the young man to pelar 
la pava. The girl is watched every moment, quite in 
the way of old dramas concerning unwelcome lovers, 
determined Dulcineas, and vigilant duennas. 

March 14th. 

Went to the French Legation this afternoon, where 
one of Madame Lefaivre's pleasant "days" was in full 
swing. I met there the Marquis de Guadalupe (Rincon 
Gallardo), very polished and agreeable, and we looked 
at a most interesting old book of picture-writing on 
maguey, which shut up like a folding screen, with a 
piece of wood at each end to hold it fast. We opened 
it out on Mr. Lefaivre's long study table. It was of 
silky, papery fiber, as smooth to the touch as to the eye. 
Across strong, blue-black grounds were pictures of hunt- 
ing scenes, or scenes of vengeance — hounds let loose 
from the leash, springing at Indians whose eyes bulged 
with terror. Forests were depicted and dark men enter- 
ing them, and footmarks; a babe was being held to the 
heavens, and groups of Indians were selling and buying, 
bending over mats on which their wares were laid out, 
as to-day. 

The Marquis thought it wasn't Aztec, but must have 
belonged to the period immediately succeeding the Con- 
quest, as there was a Moorish touch to head-dress and 
garments. Mr. Lefaivre thought it was perhaps one 
of the cunningly wrought impostures of the sixteenth 
century. It was for sale for some thousands of pesos 
and in excellent condition. Life sometimes seems like 
it here. 

Secretary Stimson has poured oil on the troubled 
waters by saying there is no thought of intervention 
in Mexico for pacification and otherwise, but it's all a 

232 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

playing with fire — and a good many American and 
Mexican fingers are like to be burnt. It would seem 
'twere better to let the Mexican revolutions quietly 
simmer till they boil dry — we can't do a little; all or 
nothing. 

I must say I have some sympathy with Madero, for, 
having allowed him to "use" the border for equipping 
and organizing his revolution, he now naturally wonders 
at our coldness. It's all a puzzle, whichever way one 
looks. I keep thinking of Don Porfirio's watch on 
Mexico; what he knew would happen is happening. 
Prophets may not only be stoned, but justified, in their 
own country. 

The Senate has wisely adopted a resolution authoriz- 
ing the President to prohibit shipments of war materials 
into Mexico — at least we won't be feeding fuel to the 
Mexican fires. 

March i6th. 

This afternoon I went out late with Madame Lef aivre ; 
she had come to inquire for Elim, who has had some 
mysterious ailment which has kept me hanging over his 
bed in terror for two days. We drove up the Paseo in 
her victoria, and by the statue of the " Independencia " 
got out and walked about the broad space surrounding it. 

Night was near, though not yet fallen, and the sun 
had disappeared behind Chapultepec. In the changing 
light the stars shone in the heavens with a brilliancy I 
have scarcely ever seen in deepest night. They illu- 
minated a pale-blue dome which had a sort of faded 
sunset lining. I looked up and saw the Southern Cross, 
the glory of these skies, hanging just above the horizon, 
and came home touched and quieted by the beauty of 
it all, to find my babe awake, in a gentle moisture, the 
fever gone. So often in Mexico the natural changes 
bring personal help. 

233 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

March 17th, evening. . 

To-day a delightful picnic at the famous "Desierto," 
the old Carmelite monastery, deep in one of the splendid 
forests of the Ajusco hills off the Toluca road. 

We met, about fifteen merrymakers, in front of Mr. 
Potter's house, in the Calle Durango, one of the newest 
of streets in the newest of the "colonias." All were 
loudly congratulatory when we appeared, about "St, 
Patrick's Day in the morning." After a careful packing 
in of baskets, bottles, and other paraphernalia which 
always flow most lavishly from Mr. Potter's house, we 
started out in a long line — where, however, the disad- 
vantages of companionship were soon apparent, as the 
dust got the hindmost with a vengeance. 

It being more necessary to keep the ambassador 
dusted than lesser objects, he led off, arriving with his 
luster undimmed. As we passed through Tacubaya, the 
Sunday market was going its usual picturesque pace, 
and the trail of equality and fraternity we left behind 
dimmed many eyes and wares. Once on the high 
Toluca road we could spread out more, distance lend- 
ing a decided enchantment. 

At Santa Fe, in the great ravine where there has 
been a powder-factory for a hundred years or so, were 
unwonted signs of activity. After a stiff bit of steep, 
broken road, we left the motors in a blessed, grassy, 
dustless spot, and began a long and lovely walk, through 
a forest of magnificent oaks and pines. The loveliest of 
ferns grew beneath them, and there were thick carpets 
of green and gray mosses, patterned with bright, flowery 
patches. There was the sweet sound of rushing waters, 
so rare on the plateau, and occasionally there was a sud- 
den rustle to show that we had surprised some wild 
living thing, and twice we saw some deer. 

One scarcely ever hears of the Mexicans hunting their 

234 




AT EL DESIERTO, APRIL 29, I912 

(Mrs. O'Shaughnessy and Elim in the foreground) 




LUNXHEON AT THE VILLA DES ROSES 

In front row (left to right) Mr. de Vilaine. Mile, de Treville, Ambassador Wilson, 
Madame Lefaivre. Mr. J. B. Potter, Mr. Rieloff (German Consul-general), Mrs. 
Nelson O'Shaughnessy. Von Hintze, Mr. Kilvert. Mr. Seger 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

game, though there are occasional shooting parties tow- 
ard the lakes where the wild duck abound. Some one 
remarked they would seem to be too busy stalking one 
another. The Riedls, the Bonillas, Von Hintze (who is 
not much given to picnicking on Sunday, generally 
spending the holy day hunting the perpetrators of the 
Covadonga outrage of last July), Mr. Potter, Mr. Butler, 
their EngHsh friend Mr. Leveson, Mr. Seeger, the am- 
bassador and ourselves, made rather an imposing array as 
we proceeded through the wilderness, which, however, 
was "paradise enow." 

As you know, when picnickers get hold of a joke noth- 
ing but separation or annihilation causes them to let it 
go, and Mr. Potter started a gentle but persistent one 
as we walked along, about not fearing snakes, as the 
presence of the O'Shaughnessys in a forest on St. 
Patrick's Day could not do less than rid the paths 
of them or analogous reptiles. I was sorry we didn't 
meet a boa-constrictor, so that he might have said his 
neglected Sunday prayers. It was so delightful, under 
the shade of the great trees, the sun filtering through 
with such a fresh warmth, and the birds singing so 
sweetly upon what seemed, indeed, a snakeless paradise 
that we were positively sorry to come upon the deep, 
flat space that holds the old monastery, near whose 
walls a long table, evidently known to generations of 
picnickers, was waiting to groan with our twentieth-cen- 
tury edibles. 

After we had bestirred ourselves with the unpacking, 
festivities proceeded as if on a stage. We were almost 
immediately surrounded by dozens of Indians, men, 
women, and children, who furtively and fortuitously 
inhabit various parts of the old cloister. During and 
afterward they received the overflow from "Dives's 
table." Several little tots found pieces of ice, which 

235 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

they carried off in the greatest excitement— doubtless 
never seen before, and overrated as to nutritive qualities. 

We refreshed ourselves to the usual accompaniment 
of quips about life in general, and in particular what 
each would do, especially the fair sex, if surprised by 
Zapatistas — who give a spice of danger to festivities in 
these parts — as "EmiHano's" capital is only over the 
near-by blue hills. There was an exceedingly knotty 
and delicate question hovering in the air, as to whether, 
in the event of the Zapatistas performing their usual 
rites of removing garments, "would it be better to be 
with friends or strangers. " 

Suppositions about Mexico's future bind every assem- 
blage together, and Riedl insisted on conversing only in 
a strange and ingenious language of his invention, com- 
posed of Portuguese, picked up in Rio, Italian in Rome, 
and Spanish in Madrid and here — too amusing and clever 
for words, and something new to the echoes of that spot. 

As he said, "What's the use of traveling if you don't 
learn something?" And he insisted on sitting near 
part of his own contribution to the picnic, a long and 
very special kind of salami (sausage) from his native 
land, to be taken with some equally celebrated schnapps, 
called Slimbowitz, also from his native land, and con- 
tributing to cordial relations. 

After lunch we walked about the old ruined monas- 
tery, inexpressibly lovely in that solitary spot. Trees 
grow from what once were cloisters and cells; the 
mother-church in its midst is crumbling, pink, vine- 
grown, delicious. Thomas Gage, an English monk who 
visited Mexico in 1625, found it then in full blast. The 
old retreat is a mass of lovely, unexpected details, long 
galleries, carved Hntels, bits of sculptured vaulting, 
romantic inclosures, and everywhere some natural 
growth to fling a Uving charm about it all. 

236 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

The pink belfry still has its old bell, but now when it 
rings it warns Zapatistas of the approach of gendarmes 
instead of calling monks to prayer. Supporting it and 
the church behind, roofless and overgrown, are low, very 
broad flying buttresses, and several small chapels are 
still domed and cupolaed. Fine trees grow everywhere, 
and the whole is inclosed by pink, flower-grown, old 
walls. 

The large patio, filled with bits of columns, stone 
beams, and crumbled mortar, was made lovelier still by 
some young and beautiful cherry-trees in full blossom, 
that rose gently but persistently against the back- 
ground of decay. 

About five o'clock the sun began to come slanting 
through the trees, bringing a warning of night with 
it, so we regretfully had the things packed to leave 
the snakeless paradise, the day done instead of be- 
fore us — and there is always a difference. We found 
ourselves going rather quietly through a blackly 
purple forest, though overhead the sky was still pale 
blue. 

When we got out into the Toluca highway we saw 
that a great dust-storm was blowing over the valley. 
There was no sight of the city; Lake Texcoco and the 
hills were veiled. We and the motors were shortly all 
of a light, yellowish-gray tinge. The fine earth of the 
road has not had a drop of moisture since last Sep- 
tember, so you can imagine. We didn't even try to wave 
farewells when we got into town, but each rolled off in 
the direction of his own roof, to remove the marks of 
pleasure. Certainly the six or eight motors must have 
been a scourge to the dusty villages through which we 
passed. 

I do enjoy the evenings so, after these long outings, 
in a tea-gown, with writing-pad or book on my com- 

237 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

fortable sofa, knitting the little thread to cast across 
the waters. . . . 

March i8ih. 

De la Barra is now in Paris and preparing to return. 
I notice a further darkening of faces at the imminent 
prospect. 

A Latin-American said to me, a propos of this, "lu is 
a sign of degeneracy when nations arrive at a point 
where they are willing to rend their country into a 
thousand bits rather than tolerate the personal success 
of another. ' ' Our beloved maxim, ' ' There's always room 
at the top," could be changed here into "there's never 
room at the top." 

However, everything is interesting, and even the pam- 
phlet I have just looked over concerning the celebrated 
Tlahualilo case has the usual color to it. The river 
Nazas flows down through the lands of the Tlahualilo 
claim, the aguas baldias overflow the banks at certain 
seasons and are used for the irrigation of the Laguna 
district. The T. Co. had contracted with the Mexican 
government regarding its development, including irri- 
gation-works, placing of colonists, buildings, etc. The 
Mexican proprietors round about wanted the water, 
too, and the T. Co. found itself in the impossibility of 
fulfilling its contracts, because it could not get the 
water necessary to the cotton crops. 

Lack of water is a terrible question in Mexico, cursed 
with irregular rainfalls, and rivers few and far be- 
tween. The Madero family own much territory in this 
part of Mexico, and wanted water for themselves. This 
is an example of the compHcations arising when the 
interests of a family are the same as the interests of the 
government over against foreign capital, without which, 
however, Mexico cannot exist. The case was pending 
during the Diaz regime, and now apparently it is frito 

238 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

since the Madero incumbency, with the inevitable judg- 
ment that they had had sufficient water to fulfil their 
contract, but had failed to do so. 

Humboldt, with his usual up-to-dateness, said, "Tout 
devient procds dans les colonies espagnoles." There is 
certainly no change between his time and mine. . . . 
One has an impression that Cortes knew what he was 
about when he asked the king not to send him lawyers, 
but monks and priests, and of these latter he did not 
want les chanoines. The separation of Church and 
State is certainly a blessing to the Church. 

So few have loved Mexico for her beauty; they mostly 
only want her for what they can get out of her. I won- 
der even her geographical position is left. 

The last two nights, for a change of air and scene. 
I have been reading Vanity Fair, and it has changed 
things. I found it with all the "bead" on it, as if it 
had just been poured from the master's brain. I re- 
member when I read it first, in my early teens, asking 
you why Rawdon Crawley threw the jewel at Lord 
Steyne. Looking back on things, I am still of the 
opinion that one should do one's classics very young; 
the flavor never leaves one and no harm is done. 

March 24th. 
This afternoon I went to call on Madame Madero. 
She has been ill, and, of course, very anxious. I went 
out of the glare of the hot terrace into the comparative 
dimness of the room, where she was lying with a hand- 
some satin spread covering her, a rosary in her hands, 
and some newspapers on the bed. Her eyes were bright 
with fever, and a pink spot was on each cheek, but it 
seemed something besides fever was burning there. She 
is clever enough to know when to worry, and my heart 
went out to her; the political mills are waiting to grind 

239 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

her and the man whose destiny she shares and whom 
she loves. 

The newspapers were announcing in large head-lines 
the operation of the Federal commanders around Rel- 
lano — Trucy Aubert, Blanquet, and Gonzalez Salas, who 
was once Minister of War and among the "232," 
being Madero's cousin. Orozco is headed apparently 
full to the south toward Torreon, and, say the timid and 
doubtful, to Mexico City. From where I sat I could 
see through the sHt in the half -drawn curtains the glit- 
tering volcanoes and the blue, translucent hills; the 
deathless beauty of it all gave me a pang. Any human 
destiny, even clothed in the supreme ojBfice, seemed in- 
significant, and only the "last four things " of account 

March 25th. 

Last night Gonzalez Salas, in a fit of despair, finding 
himself cut off from his army, which had been scattered 
and demoralized by the main army of Orozco, committed 
suicide in the train that was carrying him from defeat. 

All day long the city has been flooded with rumors, 
and a not infrequent ''Viva Orozco!'' has been heard. 

Squads of rurales had been patrolling the streets, pict- 
uresque, but giving an additional note of unrest. 

A Cabinet meeting was hurriedly held in the Palace. 
Can the disaster be retrieved? is what foreigner and 
native alike have been asking themselves all day. I 
dare say a large proportion of the population are ready 
to turn "Orozquista" at the slightest further indication 
of fate. There's always a "military genius" here ready 
and generally able to upset whatever existing apple- 
cart there be. 

Zapata looms large on the horizon, as he has chosen 
this auspicious moment to declare that he would descend 
upon the fold mth his cohorts, not, however, gleaming 

240 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

in purple and gold. The beauteous morning sun re- 
vealed various notices to this effect pasted up during 
the night in the heart of the city by daring Zapatistas. 

I haven't seen them, but a rumor is as good as a fact 
for unsettling the public. However, I did see that 
La Perla and La Esmeralda had their iron windows 
drawn down upon their glittering treasiues, when I 
took a turn down the Avenida San Francisco a little 
while ago — and many other shops had done the same. 

I have no doubt the population of the submerged- 
tenth quarter, through which Zapata would have to 
pass, coming in via the Tlalpan and Country Club road, 
would enjoy rallying to his call. Our street seemed at 
one time already in the hands of revolucionarios in the 
shape of hundreds of newspaper boys — babes who 
could scarcely hold their papers, but whose bright little 
eyes can distinguish the national currency at any dis- 
tance, and big boys and old women. 

They scented large editions from the offices of La 
Prensa, and there was much begging for centavitos right 
under my windows to buy copies with. Shrieks and 
howls mingled with cries of ''La Prensa!'^ and *'Viva 
Orozco!" The trolley-cars were blocked, and we seemed 
the focus of the Orozco victory as far as the capital 
was concerned. It was late when an adequate police 
force appeared on the scene and formed a cordon about 
the lower part of the street. Even as I write they are 
calling an extra, which I am sending down for. It has 
been an exciting day, and all exciting days in Mexico 
are blood-colored. 

March 31st. 
Palm Sunday evening. 

This morning I went to the Church of San Fernando. 
The sun was shining softly as I passed down the street 
of the Hombres Ilustres in through the little palm- 

241 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

and eucaljrptus-planted plaza, in the middle of which, 
surrounded by the most peaceful of flower-beds, is the 
statue of Guerrero (shot in Oaxaca in 183 1). His body 
lies in the old cemetery near by. 

A soft, shining peace was over everything, and I felt 
inexpressibly happy and in accord with it. No hint 
came to me, as I walked along, of any bloody sacrifice of 
God or man. Little groups of Indians were waving 
their palms, kneeling at the door of the church, or walk- 
ing about, and a few were selHng elaborately plaited 
branches. 

Though San Fernando is in a populous quarter, the 
tide has set to other shrines. Once it was the center of 
great activities, for from this church and the monastery 
and seminary adjoining were fitted out all the missions to 
the Califomias. Padre Junipero Sierra and Padre Magin 
Catala, and many other holy youths, burning with a 
zeal we don't even dimly comprehend, came from Spain 
to be trained here before starting out into unknown 
wildernesses, "for souls and for Spain." It's all so 
mysteriously suggestive. 

The church has a pinkish-brown baroque fagade, 
beautifully patinee, and the old doors are carved in a 
noble, conventional design. As I went in it seemed 
rather empty, a few Indians and a few gente decente only, 
praying before the purple-draped altars. Dreary, im- 
mense, uninteresting paintings decorate the walls now; 
but its interior was once hallowed, dim, gleaming with 
the gold of Churrigueresque altars and retablos, carv- 
ings, embroideries, and beautiful silver and gilt candela- 
bra and vases. 

Afterward I went to the cemetery adjoining the 
church, known as that of the Hombres Ilustres, where 
a somnolent custodian let me in. The most prominent 
tomb is that of Juarez, dating from somewhere in the 

242 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

eighties. He is represented with his head lying in the 
lap of a weeping woman, symbolic of the sorrows of 
the nation (and tears enough to make a river have 
been shed by women here, since then). I asked myself, 
by his tomb, what has it availed to scatter the treasures 
of the church ? All are poorer and none, alas, the wiser. 

Guerrero, of the little flower-planted plaza, Comon- 
fort, Zaragoza, lie near, all executed by the hand of 
some one momentarily stronger. Generals Mejia and 
Miramon, the companions in death of Maximilian ^ on 
the fatal morning of June 19, 1867, repose here too. 

In Mexico it is difficult to live for your country with- 
out the certain prospect of dying for it, but I must con- 
fess that to me the readiness with which the men of 
Mexico give up their lives is impressive and affecting. 
It is at least removed from the conventionalities of other 
types of political men, where mostly each one intends 
to' live comfortably by as well as for his country, until 
he dies of disease, or Anno Domini. 

Inspired by the wonted passion for moving things, 
a huge new pantheon is being constructed near by, 
and some day all these tired bones must make another 
journey. I think the cemetery as it is would make a 
good school-room for the study of the history of Mexico 
since she began her struggle for "independence." 

Later we went out to the Country Club, where there 
was a luncheon of the usual contingent, and spent the 
afternoon following various friendly golfing squads over 
the beauteous links, beginning with the ambassador, 
Mr. Parry, Mr. McCarthy, and N. The volcanoes, now 
in one aspect, now in another of their beauty, were 
as gracious to the foreigner as to the indigine. The 
short, wiry grass, something like the tough grass of 

^ The body of Maximilian lies with his kin in the imperial vault of the 
Capuchin church in Vienna. 

17 243 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

Scotland, made the most luxurious of carpets as we 
strolled along, though now it is dried to the palest 
yellow — the greens kept green only by exhaustive 
efforts — a lot of Yankee push behind the hand that 
wields the hose. At sunset we drove home through a 
worid of sifted gold. Such are the days of Mexico. 



XXI 

Mexico's three civilizing, constructive processes — A typical Mexican 
family group — Holy Week — "La Catedral" on a "canvas" of white 
flowers — Reply of the Mexican government 

April jd. 

YESTERDAY Aunt L. received a telegram neces- 
sitating her immediate presence in San G. Things 
are getting lively there again. I saw her off in the 
hurrying, crowded station with a pang, and the house 
seemed quite empty when I got back. . . . 

I have begun a very interesting edition of the letters 
of Cortes by Archbishop Lorenzano, from the latter part 
of the eighteenth century. When all is said and done 
there have been three civilizing, constructive processes 
in Mexico. The Spanish conquerors, the Church, 
through the marvelous energies of friars and priests, 
and invested foreign capital. 

Every visible sign of civilization comes under one of 
those three heads, and is not to be blinked. Each has 
evolved inevitably out of the elements of the previous 
condition. Diaz, when he formally invited foreign 
capital and gave guarantees, was the expression of this 
last very concretely. He kept pace with events, or else 
ran ahead. I have discovered, however, that it is per- 
mitted to be malicious, stupid, selfish, a bore, vain, 
vicious, dull, hard-hearted, the oppressor of the poor; 
but it is an unpardonable sin to be ahead of one's time. 
To be behind it is an unassailable patent of respecta- 
bility. 

245 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

It seems to me, however, that he who looks forward 
to a change in the affairs of the world, rather than he 
who looks on them as changeless, is less likely to be 
mistaken; and great rulers have always sensed evolu- 
tions. 

April 4th, 
Holy Thursday, evening. 

The whole of Mexico seemed afield to-day, with a 
hint of Sunday best as they made the rounds of various 
churches for the visits to the Repository — the gente 
decente, as well as those sin hechos y derechos.^ 

I went through the shining Alameda, where again 
Indian life was beating its full around the little booths 
• — preparing for the Resurrection morn. There is some- 
thing simple and affecting about the way they regulate 
their commerce by these festivals of the year, this peace- 
ful, almost rhythmic flooding in and out of the city. 
Now the booths are full of toy wagons, with screaming, 
harsh-sounding wheels, rattles of every description— in 
fact, any harsh combination of sounds which represents 
the breaking of the bones of Judas. 

The Indian must have gods — and it is better to 
have him worshiping the image of one God, the God of 
gods, and His attributes, than sacrificing to Huitzil- 
opochtli, Quetzalcoatl, and their like, in blood and terror, 
or wandering in the colorless and empty places of un- 
belief. 

At San Juan de Dios I came upon a family group 
so charming and so artless that I could scarcely take 
my eyes from them. The mother, a straight-haired 
Indian woman, with the usual small, loose upper gar- 
ment and the straight piece of cloth wrapped about her 
hips, had the sweetest little baby peeping out from the 
rebozo which bound it across her back. An old oil-can, 

^ Without civil rights. 
246 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

filled with what I know not what, was by her side. The 
father carried a platter of dusty pink sweets, and a tribe 
of soft, bright-eyed, smiling children accompanied them. 
The next youngest to the baby was on the father's 
shoulder, who laid his hat before him with his platter, 
on the altar steps. His eyes were uplifted. All were 
silent and immobile, even the baby looking intently at 
the altar of the Repository, banked with flowers, 
ablaze with candle-light, and decorated with a few cages 
wherein were some small, bright-plumaged birds. 

The church is part of an old chapel erected in the 
sixteenth century to Nuestra Sefiora de los Desam- 
parados (Our Lady of the Forsaken Ones) ; but some- 
how that group fulfilHng its destiny did not seem for- 
saken, but a part of the mysterious human fabric of 
which I myself was just as mysterious a bit. Before the 
beautiful recessed portal in the rich baroque fagade, 
whose adjacent wall is ornamented in a Mauresque de- 
sign, a remnant of the earliest colonial period, was a varied 
assortment of beggars — also not disinherited, it seemed 
to me — but called^ to partake of the sorrows of the Madre 
de Dios whom they so loudly invoked as I passed in. 

The feature of the church is the statue of St. Anthony 
of Padua, which once was among the group of santos in 
the fagade, but had been cast down during the anti- 
church riots of 1857. For many years it lay covered 
with mud and dust in a ditch by the Alameda. Now it 
is a mass of votive offerings — milagros they are called — ■ 
in the shape of hearts, limbs, etc., whatever organ had 
been damaged by the casualties of earthly existence. I 
espied an ingenious presentment of a liver in copper 
hanging in its proper anatomical place on the person 
of the santo. The Indians have the strange habit of 
making their offerings to this shrine in groupings of 
thirteen — thirteen candles, bouquets containing thirteen 

247 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

flowers etc. — commemorative of the death of San 
Antonio on the 13 th of June (1531). 

I can't see how the Indian is benefited by the sup- 
pression of reHgious ceremonies. Gods he must have. 
And when one comes out into the Alameda, the sun 
shining on the belfries and domes of the many churches 
surrounding it, filtering through the lovely foliage of the 
park about which the Indian tides sweep, fixed as the 
laws that govern other tides, one feels the bounteousness 
of the natural world, and a desire to render thanks to 
something. 

The long, narrow, flower-planted atrium of San 
Diego, from the early part of the sixteenth century, 
flanks the charming old house where the presses of the 
Mexican Herald turn out world news on the site of the 
Aztec market-place, or tinquiz. But though the outer 
seeming of life is changed, I could but think me of the 
changelessness of the human heart. 

Good Friday Evening. 

A sickening heat was in the air all day, with a some- 
thing withering and nerve-disturbing about it, though, 
as the thermometer goes, the temperature was not high. 

I went early to the little near-by church of Corpus 
Christi. The singing of "Dulce lignum" made me think 
of the great ceremonies at St. John Lateran, and much 
that is no more. I returned at 2.30, when a strange- 
faced priest with an "inner" look and a something burn- 
ing in his voice, a Spaniard by his accent, was finishing 
the "Three Hours." Afterward, in company with In- 
dians and black-rebozoed women, I followed the Stations 
of the Cross. . . . 

Holy Saturday. 

Mexico City is one vast "rattle," the most dreadful 
sounds everywhere to commemorate the holy, still day, 
and as for Judas, he is a legion in himself, 

248 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

The Calle de Tacuba presented a strange sight. 
Stretched on wires or strings from one house to the 
other were bright-colored, hideous figures, representing 
the maldito ^ dangling in grotesque attitudes against the 
blue sky. On various street corners he is being burned 
in effigy. Firecrackers are exploding as I write, bells 
are ringing from every belfry. Grief is noisy in the 
tropics, even for the laying in the tomb of the Son of 
Man. 

When I came out of the cathedral I stopped at the 
flower-market near by. It is a modem, ugly, round, iron- 
roofed affair, but the flowers, the bright birds in their 
bamboo cages, and, above all, the dazzling air, fling a 
charm about it. Every modem, ugly thing in Mexico 
seems easily transmuted. In the old days the Indians 
brought their flowers straight to the Plaza in canoes by 
the Viga Canal. 

■An Indian, with what I can only call a "canvas" of 
white flowers, on moss and wire, about two feet square, 
was putting in an outline of red and purple stocks. 
When I asked him what he was going to represent he 
answered, quite simply, with a look at the church, "La 
catedral." A very young Indian carrying a tiny white 
coffin on his head passed us, as I spoke to him, and he 
stopped his work and made the sign of the cross. 

In the arcades several "Evangelistas," scribes, were 
surrounded by the unlettered and unwashed — and I 
found some tattered children, so easily made happy, 
looking at stands stocked with pink, syrupy drinks and 
cornucopias filled with ices. But mostly the attention 
of the crowd was concentrated on a huge magenta and 
blue Judas who was going up in a blaze of infamy on the 
corner. 

A domestic tragedy awaited me when I returned home. 

* Accursed one. 
249 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

One of the servants, while praying before the image of 
Nuestra Sefiora del Sagrario in the Church of Corpus 
Christi, had her pocket-book removed. In it were some 
coral ear-rings, a lottery ticket, and the remains of her 
month's wages, just received. 

She seemed more disturbed by the loss of the lottery 
ticket than the other articles, and kept saying, "Quien 
sabe, Senoraf" and that she had chosen the number 313, 
after a very precise dream of three white rabbits, one 
black cat (this latter the same, I fancy, that disturbs the 
slumbers of Calle Humboldt), followed up by the three 
children of her aunt, dressed in unaccustomed white. It 
was almost convincing. As the door of the pantry opened 
when supper was being served the words "Tres conejos'' 
(three rabbits) floated into the dining-room, with an 
accompanying ''Quien sabef" 

Dia de Pascua, April 7th. 

Happy Easter to my precious mother on this loveliest 
of Resurrection moms ! San Felipe was crowded to suffo- 
cation — quite beautiful music in the rolling, gorgeous 
style, and everybody, even the beggars at the doors, 
with what they call here a cara de Pascua (Easter face) . 
This is only a word while waiting to motor out to Tlalpan 
to the Del Rios' for a dia de campo. 

April loth. 

To-day, luncheon here for Mile, de Treville, the singer, 
and her mother, who are the guests of the ambassador. 
We all miss dear Mrs. Wilson, who has retux-ned suddenly 
to the States* on account of the illness of her son. Warden, 
at Cornell. Rieloff was among the guests and we are to 
dine there on Saturday and have a musical evening after- 
ward. He was consul-general in Hong-Kong when Von 
Hintze was out there as lieutenant on Prince Henry's 
staff. Now, what the Mexicans would call their cate- 
goria is reversed. 

250 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

April jith. 

I do hope, though probably vainly, that Madame 
Madero doesn't see all the dreadful caricatures appear- 
ing about her husband. El Manana, edited by an 
extremely clever Porfirista, has apparently set out to 
grind him to powder, and there is one, El Multicolor, 
edited by a Spaniard, sometimes quite ribald, which I 
should say is preparing to bury the remains with scant 
ceremony. 

There was a cartoon the other day, which I am send- 
ing, representing Madero being kicked down a long, 
broad flight of stairs in the palace on to a transatlantic 
liner bearing the fateful name Ypiranga, ^ the historic 
ship that bore Diaz across the bitter waters. The 
Latin -American mind is at its best in satire, and with 
the dart well poisoned they kill off their public men by 
the dozens. 

April 14th. 

The Mexican government is decidedly upset to-day 
at the receipt of a notification from Washington to the 
effect that the United States will hold Mexico and the 
Mexican people responsible for illegal acts sacrificing 
or endangering American life or property. It is a simul- 
taneous warning to both Madero and Orozco, and the 
hon mot of the situation here is, ' ' Is necessity the mother 
of intervention ? " 

April 1 6th. 

1 am still numbed and dazed by the reading of the 
Titanic catastrophe. 

April 17th. 

The Mexican government replies to our notification 
of the 14th, first cousin to an ultimatum, in which 

1 This ship has played a rAle in the destinies of two of Mexico's rtders, 
for it not only bore Diaz into exile, but it was the ship containing the 
ammunition for Huerta, to prevent the delivery of which we thought 
we were obliged to seize Vera Cruz, April 21, 1914. 

251 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

we call categoric attention to the enormous destruction 
of American property, ever on the increase in Mexico, 
and the taking of American life, contrary to the usages 
of civilized nations. 

The United States expects and demands that American 
life and property within the Republic of Mexico be justly 
and adequately protected, and will hold Mexico and the 
Mexicans responsible for all wanton and illegal acts sacri- 
ficing or endangering them. 

We further insist that the rules and principles accepted 
by civilized nations as controlling their actions in time 
of war shall be observed. Any deviation from such a 
coiirse, any maltreatment of any American citizen, will 
be deeply resented by the American government and 
people, and must be fully answered for b}^ the Mexican 
people. The shooting of the unfortunate, misguided 
Thomias Fountain by Orozco (said T. F, was having a 
little fling seeing life, and death, too, with the Federal 
forces) is deplored. Orozco "answers back" that natu- 
rally he executed Fountain, who was "fighting in the 
enemy's army." Several Americans, employed on the 
Mexican railways, have also been murdered by the 
revolutionists. 

The Mexican reply, drawn up by the long-headed, 
very prudent Don Pedro Lascurain, the new Minister for 
Foreign Affairs, says Mexico finds itself in the painful 
position of not recognizing the right of our government 
to make the various admonitions which are contained 
in the note, since these are not based on any incident 
chargeable to the Mexican government, or which could 
signify that it had departed from an observance of the 
principles and practices of international law. 

The Imparcial was very fierce this morning, consider- 
ing us both rough and inconsiderate, and saying that 
Mexico has merited better treatment at our hands, 

252 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

Mostly they seem to think that we ought to take 
things as we find them or depart. I don't think much 
can be done in Latin America by threats or menaces. It 
is either definite force or tactful coaxing; and, anyway, 
the Monroe Doctrine can never be anything but a sort 
of wolf in sheep's clothing to the Latin-American peoples. 

El Pais, which is the official CathoHc organ, says the 
note is "the first flash of lightning," and, without doubt, 
some gorgeous storm-clouds are rolHng up. 

Don Porfirio is more completely vindicated than he 
could ever have hoped, or even wished. 



XXII 

The home of President Madero's parents — Senor de la Barra returns 
from Europe — Zapatistas move on Cuernavaca — Strange disappear- 
ances in Mexico — Oil — The President and the railways 

April 2jd. 

HAVE been busy to-day looking over things and 
getting boxes and trunks off to be repaired. A 
feeling of migration is in the air. A lot of damage 
was done getting to Mexico. A locksmith asked fifteen 
francs to open that small trunk where I keep my papers 
and give me a new key. He took the fifteen francs, but 
brought no key until pressure was put on him, when he 
sent back a key that fitted, having, however, a large, 
ornamental wrought-iron handle from the viceregal 
period. I should say that takes up more room than all 
our other keys together. It would look better in a 
vitrine. 

If the end comes suddenly, which I don't believe, we 
can get out comfortably and with the philosophy engen- 
dered by the fact that, after all, these are not our Lares 
and Penates. 

We dine at the British Legation to-night. The Stronges 
are very comfortably and handsomely installed, though 
the drawing-room, with its pale-blue hangings, endless 
modern chairs and cabinets and small tables, sent out 
from England, make it less artistic, to my mind, than in 
its former spare furnishing with Hohler's lovely old 
things. 

254 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

Just home from the Country Club, where I left N. 
starting out on a "foursome" with Susana Garcia 
Pimentel,^ Senor Bemal, her brother-in-law, and an 
unknown fourth. On those beautiful links she seemed 
more beautiful than ever, with a tall slenderness, an 
exceeding and arresting straightness of feature, long, 
idealized "Hapsburg chin," and what we call a "com- 
plexion" not often seen here. She was Diana-Hke as 
she started off in a thin, extremely expensive, white, 
unmistakably French dress and an equally French 
flopping Leghorn hat, the Httle Indian caddy following 
with the arrow-case. 

1 called on Madame Madero, senior, yesterday, and 
found more than a hint of the patriarchal — sons and 
daughters and grandchildren coming and going. They 
seem quiet, dignified people. The father came in as I 
was sitting there with various other visitors, and the 
two daughters rose and kissed his hand and called 
him papacito. The devotion of families and the per- 
manence of ties here is quite remarkable, a decided con- 
trast to the more airy conjugal relations in the United 
States. 

After tea had been served we went into the big 
drawing-room, where I sat with some anonymous, silent, 
big-hatted, small-footed Mexican women, while Angela 
Madero sang charmingly and easily, without the tiresome 
urging so often necessary. She speaks of going abroad 
or to New York to study, when political affairs are quite 
settled. The house, ^ recently built in the handsome 

^ Died in New York, August 23, 1916, of a maladie de langueur. 
How could she resist a winter exiled in Harlem, after the flight from 
Mexico in 191 5— the world, her world, in ruins? As well put an orchid 
in a cellar in the autumn and expect to find it blooming in the spring. 

2 This house was burned and sacked during the Decena Trdgica, 
February, 1913, by what the newspapers called la furia popular, and 
remains to this day a mass of crumbling and charred walls, roofless and 
windowless, sic transit. 

25s 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

Colonia Juarez, Calle Berlin, is comfortable but banal, 
without the good things of the "old" famiHes. Few 
books — in fact, like most of the modern Mexican houses. 
As I came out the air was darkened by one of the 
great dust-storms that sometimes come up toward 
twilight at this time of the year. The strains of "The 
Rosar}^" which Angela twice sang with real feeling, 
followed me, together with thoughts of a family who, 
once rich, obscure, and happy, now find themselves 
perched on the dizzy, uncertain peak of Mexican politics. 
I wonder if the elder members don't sometimes sigh for 
the good old days. 

April 24th. 

Yesterday the ambassador gave a large musical in 
honor of Mile. Treville, who is leaving soon, at which 
Mrs. Schuyler and I presided. The rooms were filled 
with Easter lilies. Miss de T. sang really beautifully 
the aria of "La Folie," from "Ophelie," "Super vor- 
reste," some songs of Mr. McDowell's, and, as her last 
encore, gave the ever-popular Mexican song of home 
and homesickness, "La Golondrina." Her voice has a 
beautiful, bird-like quality and her ecole of the best ; she 
studied in Paris and Brussels. 

Madame Madero came, looking a little thin, in a nice, 
black lace dress, over some shining white, with a sister 
resembling her, though without any suggestion of 
Madame Madero's banked fires; her two sisters-in-law, 
Angela and Mercedes, also accompanied her. Madame 
Ernesto Madero, always very pretty, with a bright, 
fresh look, in spite of her many children, was in black 
lace, with a large picture-hat. Indeed, I was fearful at 
one time that the unusually large assortment of black 
picture-hats, in conjunction with the Easter lilies, would 
make the room somewhat funereal in spots. 

256 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

The whole Corps Diplomatique, which had not been out 
in force for some time, was there. The governor of the 
Federal District, Don Ignacio Rivero, now a great friend 
of N.'s and most useful in many ways, came with his 
wife, whom I hadn't met. The Guatemalan minister 
presented his handsome bride, the Cuban minister. Gen- 
eral de Riba, who, it appears, is breaking hearts galore 
with his tenor voice and handsome face, was there; and 
Madame Simon, as always, sparkling and interested, 
surveyed the scene with her long lorgnette. 

The clou of the occasion was the appearance of Mr. 
de la Barra, just back from Europe. He was amiable, 
tactful, and inscrutable, but I wonder what he really 
thinks of the slopes of Avernus, down which the gov- 
ernment seems to be sliding, and not gently, either. He 
has taken a big house, quite ex-presidential-looking, in 
the Calle Hamburgo, and the largest of packing-boxes 
are being emptied in front of it. The Embassy staff 
were out in full force, of course — D'Antin, interpreter 
and legal adviser since many years; Palmer, now diplo- 
matic secretary to the ambassador and very capable; 
Parker, first clerk; and others. 

Mr. Potter and Mr. Butler came in late and stayed 
late, and we spoiled our dinners sitting around the 
dining-table, eating sandwiches and sweets and talking 
about the party. We screamed with laughter at Mr. 
Potter's cutting from one of the big New York dailies, 
which quite solemnly states that Zapata is a natural 
product of the Diaz rule, and is merely avenging the 
innocent and oppressed ones. We all had a conviction 
that they had rather be unavenged. What twaddle the 
people have to read, anyway. As for me, school begins 
with my first waking moment and continues without a 
recess till I pass from this land of the unexpected and 
unsuspected to that of dreams. 

257 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

April 25th. 

The newspapers have been having large head-Hnes the 
past two days regarding the Zapatistas, for "the Attila 
of the South ' ' is moving on Cuernavaca from the north, 
and it seems but a question of time before the lovely 
town falls into his hands. The Federal garrison is esti- 
mated at only a few hundreds, while the Zapatistas have 
between four and five thousand men. 

The inhabitants are anxious to be allowed to sur- 
render, as Zapata has declared that if there is resistance 
he will sack and burn the town, "piously" leaving noth- 
ing standing but the cathedral, according to his solemn 
promise to the bishop. There was quite a tidy bit of 
warning at Huitzilac, when that town was stormed, as 
to what might happen to Cuernavaca, which is full of 
refugees from Guerrero and the southern part of Morelos. 
This most fertile and lovely state, wherein may be seen 
"all the vegetable kingdoms of the world in a moment of 
time," is practically in the hands of the Zapatistas, shad- 
ing off into " Salgadistas " and endless other "istas," 
coloring the country-side independently. In all this the 
women and children seem the pity of it. At home or 
afield, they are continually being caught up into mys- 
terious traps of destiny. Even here in my house there 
are, from time to time, curious disappearances. 

Josefina, the silent, consumptive seamstress who comes 
to sew and mend, has one of those vanishing sorts of 
lives. She has wonderful hands, and can copy with her 
slender, tapering fingers the most complicated French 
clothes. In fact, if one were able to get the stuffs 
here, one couldn't tell the copy from the original, 
cut and all. She has just been copying that rather 
intricate Jeanne Halle purple-and-black blouse. Ex- 
cept for the inside waistband, whose origin is name- 
less, like Josefina, you can scarcely tell them apart, 

258 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

not a sixteenth of a centimeter's difference in length, 
breadth, or width. 

She sits in the sun by an open window, and has egg 
and sherry at eleven and before she goes home, but the 
sands of her life are shpping fast. She lives in a room 
with three other consumptive sisters. The eldest went 
out one night to get some oil for their lamp. It is now 
ten days, and she has not returned. Is she working in 
the powder-mills, or what? Who will care, and who 
could if he would inform himself of her fate — just gone 
out into the night. 

Madame Bonilla, from whom I got Josefina, has 
been an angel of mercy to her and her sisters, and 
tried unsuccessfully to rearrange their housing, in- 
viting Josefina to Hve at her country place and 
supply her with work. But one can only battle so 
far with Indian situations. After a certain point 
everything seems to slip away into mystery, racial 
and individual. 

Does not constitutional democracy seem a snare and 
a delusion if two-thirds of the population are composed 
of such? It brings a smile, but of despair, to the face. 
My very good Indian washer-woman, not long ago, left 
me. The usual excuse of an aunt or a grandmother, or 
some one being ill or dead, was not used. She just 
stood there with her three children, clutching the ends 
of her rebozo, that the last, fat little baby was rolled up 
in, and repeated that she must return at once to her 
pueblo whose Indian name I didn't catch. She had a 
sort of an antique, troubled look. I asked Cecilia if she 
knew what the matter was. She answered the usual 
"Pu4s quUn sabe, Sehoraf" 

We got some things together for the children, and I 
gave her a few pesos, and she went off, out of my life, 
out of the security of food and lodging that was hers, to 
18 259 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

melt into the endless generations of Indians; I felt 
uncomfortable for long after. 

Talking about housework, I wish some of the airy 
stipendiaries of other climes, or even the women of 
those sections of my native land where they don't have 
"help," could really know what it is here, where half 
the female energies of the nation are engaged in the 
grinding of com. They don't do it occasionally, but 
every day, and hour after hour, or the nation would 
starve. 

It's one of the most appalling things in Mexico, this 
grinding of the mother literally between the upper and 
nether stones. How can a nation advance when the 
greater part of the women pass their lives grinding 
corn, making tortillas, and bearing children? There is 
no time or strength left to sketch in the merest outline 
of home-making, let alone a personal life, or any of the 
rudiments of citizenship. 

April 26th. 

Yours about the catastrophe in the Bay of Tangier is 
received. My heart aches. To think of parents being 
brought back out of the darkness of death by drowning, 
to call for three children and find nothing! It is Greek, 
terrible. You remember them from Berlin days and 
those lovely little ones. 

Last night we dined at Mr. Walker's with our military 
attache and Mr. Knoblauch; they are all keeping bach- 
elor quarters in Mr. W.'s handsome house next door to 
the British Legation, in his wife's absence. The talk 
turned on oil. Though the Aztecs used it for their 
temple floors, the Spaniards left it in the rich breast of 
Mother Earth. Now it looks as if it were going to be 
the center of foreign interests in Mexico, replacing in the 
inevitable evolution of things its romantic mining 
history. 

260 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

Mr. Doheny, the pioneer of the industry, has had one 
of those careers only possible to the man of genius. He 
appeared on the scene of the future oil-drama (the state 
of Vera Cruz)/ looked about him, installed a plant of 
many millions, and when he was ready, the oil gushed 
up — a sort of twentieth century striking of the rock — 
to say nothing of Moses. 

Lord Cowdray's enterprise was not less spectacular 
nor less profitable. Nature did not, however, wait on 
his preparedness, for suddenly from his lands the great- 
est oil-well in the world. Las Dos Bocas, gushed out, and 
for months burned upward in a great column of smoke 
and fire, and flowed out to the sea, a burning waste of 
light and heat, before it could be capped. 

Now that modern-sounding thing, an oleoduct, carries 
a vast stream from one of the other great wells (Potrcro 
del Llano) to Tampico, to the sea, where navies and 
merchant-ships await it, and we have begun a new era 
in the mechanical activity of the world. 

Mr. Walker enlivened it all with amusing tales of 
Indian laborers and their ways when driven by Anglo- 
Saxons who suffer not the word manana. Underneath 
it is the beat of world-passions and world-needs, and 
Mexico, lovely and uncertain, finds herself at once the 
stage of mighty interests — and their battle-ground. 

After dinner we betook ourselves to the big living- 
room, where the phonograph was turned on, giving forth 
such national lyrics as "You Have Another Papa on the 
Salt Lake Line," and "My Wife's Gone to the Country, 

' The American interests are chiefly situated in the district of El 
Ebano, on the frontier of the states of Vera Cruz and San Luis Potosi. 
The English are in the district of Tuxpam in the state of Vera Cruz, and 
the total of the interests represented is about a hundred million dollars 
for the American, seventy-five millions for the English, and between two 
and three millions for the Mexican. The figures do rather sustain the 
adage that "Mexico is the mother of foreigners, but the stepmother of 
Mexicans." 

261 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

Hurray, Hurray!" The nearest we got to the classics 
was the air from "Martha." 

Burnside drove us home, after a turn in the dim, mys- 
terious park. The immense and splendid ' ' Ship ' ' was 
stretching low across the starry heavens, and there were 
great spaces of intensest black between the groupings 
of the constellations. These stars, under which I was 
not born, have a strange and quieting influence on me. 
One cannot look other than with stillness and awe on 
their luminous rhythm, compared to the restless and 
confused "who knows whence, whither, or what" of the 
Indian destinies they shine on. All that "vast and won- 
dering dream of night" which "rolls on above our tears." 

Mr. J. B. P. gives a big luncheon at the Villa des 
Roses to-day, and has sent me the list to seat. You see 
that we do move about, though somewhat warily, in 
these regions of political quicksands. 

The ambassador has always had the gravest doubts 
as to Madero's competency. Nothing any of us have 
seen, up to now, has been encouraging. It is one thing 
to inflame a country by promises of everything to every- 
body; it's another thing to rebuild a state, as he set out 
to do, from ruins, or even to sustain law and order, as he 
knew it, and benefited by it, in his youth. That dreamy 
face of his makes me think of the school-boy's definition 
of an abstract noun, "something you can't see," and 
those hands, with their soft and kindly gestures, are so 
unfitted for grappling with this special Leviathan — and 
consequences are pitiless. Alas for the pen de politique 
et beaucoup d' administration of Diaz! 

I discovered a decided hint of original sin in Elim 
yesterday. When I told him to kneel in church he 
said his leg hurt him; when I told him to make the 
sign of the cross he said his arms hurt him, and his neck 
was like a ramrod when I told him to bow his head. 

262 




Wiotograijh by Kiivell 

A BEAUTIFUL OLD MEXICAN CHURCH 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

April 2'7ih. 

A year ago to-day we set out on our tropical advent- 
ure, and the end is not yet. I said to the ambassador 
yesterday, d propos of picnics, "What shall we do next 
Sunday?" He answered: "You may be on a war-ship 
next Sunday." 

However, the climax may not come for months, and 
it may not come that way when we do leave, but it 
would be a fine finale! 

Later. 

Your letter from Mentone of April 15th has just been 
handed in — twelve days only; did it fly through space? 
I ask myself. 

I have been reading an account of the death of the 
great viceroy, Bucareli, which tells of the famous courier 
who was sent to annoimce the nomination to his suc- 
cessor, Mayorga, then in Guatemala, building a new 
capitol near the old, destroyed by earthquake. He did 
the distance, over pathless mountains and deep valleys, 
in seven days, spurred on by the motto of "the king is 
dead, long live the king" — in this case translated into an 
old Mexican saying of ''No es lo mismo virrey que viene 
que virrey que se va'' ("A viceroy that comes is not the 
same as a viceroy that goes"). 

The Mexican post, in the old days, was auctioned off 
to the highest bidder by the state, not a confidence- 
inspiring way of communication, and it ended by 
wealthy people having their own runners. Now, in 
twelve days, a letter takes its flight from the shores of 
the Mediterranean to the Mexican heights ! Autre temps, 
autres maeurs. 

There is from the time of the wars of independence 
the picturesque tale of the "Courrier Anglais"; noth- 
ing English about it, except that an Indian horseman 
by the name of Verazo would leave Mexico City in 

263 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

time to reach Vera Cruz for the arrival of the packet 
from Southampton, and in his saddle-bags would be 
the whole diplomatic and mercantile correspondence of 
the capital. 

He never stopped, except to jump from one horse to 
the other at the relay stations, and was allowed privi- 
leges of safe-conduct by all shades of combatants, regu- 
lar and irregular. Once arrived at Vera Cruz, he would 
eat copiously, sleep for a couple of days, and then return 
with the mails to Mexico City, ready to repeat his 
exploits the next month. 

Do you remember that poem of Bret Harte's, "The 
Lost Galleon"? I came across it the other day, finger- 
ing a volume of American poetry. It, too, evokes pict- 
ures of runners bringing mails and valuables from the 
Orient up from Acapulco, and begins : 

In sixteen hundred and forty-one 

The regular yearly galleon. 

Laden with odorous gums and spice, 

India cotton and India rice, 

And the richest silks of far Cathay, 

Was due at Acapulco Bay. 

The luncheon at the Villa des Roses was very pleas- 
ant. The place is kept by a Frenchwoman with a fine 
touch and an excellent cellar. She has some v/onderful 
pdU de foie gras in a great terrine, just out from France, 
and her macMoine de fruits was arrosee with an ancient 
and mellow maraschino. The table was spread in a long 
glass veranda, with thickly blossoming rose-vines, crim- 
son rambler, trailing over it. The Lefaivres, the Riedls, 
Von Hintze, the ambassador, Rieloff , De Vilaine, Kilvert, 
Seeger, the Schuylers, and ourselves made up the party. 

Mr. Potter's lavishness as to menu made us feel some- 
what "boa-constrictory" as we rose from table, but we 

264 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

were able to get into the garden and have our photo- 
graphs taken by Baroness R., which I send you. 

April 2gth. 

Bumside goes to the "front," which now means 
Huerta's army against Orozco's; changes of front are 
among the natural phenomena here. It appears General 
Huerta is full of resource and has contrived to enlist 
and equip a large force in this short month. 

I did not tell you of the dinner at the German Lega- 
tion the other night for the new Minister of Foreign 
Affairs, Don Pedro Lascurain. Mrs. Stronge presided, 
with him on her right, and I sat on his other side. 

He is a tall, spectacled, near-sighted -appearing man 
with a pleasant expression, but I understand he can 
see farther than most down financial and political vistas. 
He has a natural flair for business, having made a large 
fortune by real-estate purchases in the new section of the 
town, is moderate in the political sense, honorable and 
very pious. 

He told me about the Sagrado Corazdn, the church 
he is building almost entirely out of his own pocket for 
the Jesuits in the Calle de Orizaba near his house. It 
had been so badly cracked in what is now simply known 
as the "Madero" earthquake (June 7, 191 1), not as a 
"sign from heaven," that work had to be suspended on 
it while the foundations were strengthened. N. said he 
remarked quite simply to him, in the course of a con- 
versation, "Why do you Americans talk of intervening 
in Mexico? You own it already." 

He has replaced Calero, sent as ambassador to Wash- 
ington. I predict that Calero will know a good deal 
more about us than we do about him before he is done. 

After much hesitation, Aunt L. has rented the big 
house near the station to General Garcia Hernandez 

265 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

of the "military zone." They would have taken it if 
she hadn't. It's certainly ideal for strategic purposes; 
it commands a view of the whole country and the rail- 
way is comfortingly near at hand. The large fly in the 
ointment is that quantities of dynamite have been stored 
in it. She has been waiting for days to go to Juchitan, 
where things are lively again. She does not dare to 
drive over, and the train has not been going for some 
time, a commentary on the regeneration of Mexico. If 
the taxes are not paid there are fines, and they have to 
get to Juchitan to pay the taxes or the usual devil gets 
the hindmost. Batches of wounded from there have 
been brought in to San G. 

Yesterday we went a-picnicking again to El Desierto — 
three motors full — Mr. Potter, Mr. Butler, Mademoiselle 
de Treville and her mother, Bumside, Seeger, the ambas- 
sador, and ourselves. We all met at the Embassy, where 
there was an immense amount of telephoning between 
N. and the governor, Rivero, as to whether the first 
detachment of soldiers, supposed to have gone early in 
the morning to prepare the scene for festivities by clear- 
ing the brush of Zapatistas, really had departed. 

After circling round and round the Embassy, the sun 
so broiling we could not sit still in it, we finally started 
off, the gentlemen bulging with pistols, the motors heavy 
with cartridges. We were preceded by a military auto 
containing two officers and eight men. They nearly 
choked us with their dust, and only when we got off the 
highway into the lovely forest stretch did we begin to 
"take notice" again. Then the glinting of uniforms 
through the great trees. Miss de Treville boldly trilling 
some lovely variations on "The Star-spangled Banner," 
the general feeling of adventure, not unmixed with pride as 
to our boldness, made us once more "rejoice in the green 
springtime of our youth," according to Nezahualcoyotl. 

266 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

By the time we reached the luncheon site we felt our- 
selves perfect daredevils and ready for anything. The 
only risk we did run (I hate to relate it) was when a 
pair of excited mules, driven by a wild-eyed Indian, 
coming from qui^n sabe where, dashed upon us as we 
were sitting innocently at lunch in the idyllic spot I 
wrote you of. They were prevented by a big tree, only 
some four yards off, from completely demolishing us. 
The wagon was smashed, and the picnickers fled in all 
directions. The first thought of each was that it was 
the prelude to a Zapatista play, and we were on their 
stage. However, all's well that ends well: and here I 
am on my sofa again. 

The political mess thickens. So much might have 
been done, if all the efforts of the government had not 
been expended on keeping in office. War-vShips are 
announced, some of ours, and the English and French 
and Germans will take a look, too. 

A curious complication about the railways has come 
to a head, involving not alone money, but life. Shortly 
after Madero came in he endeavored to get rid of the 
American railroad servants, who tried to get the matter 
taken up in Washington, and there was a lot of unofficial 
talk besides. Madero had ordered that, after a certain 
date, all orders must be written in Spanish; the trainmen, 
while speaking Spanish, in the majority of cases, could 
not write it sufficiently well for prompt and efficient 
service. Mr. W. has been so convinced from the begin- 
ning that Madero could not fill the position that he has 
lost interest in personal communications. So he sent 
N. up to Chapultepec to see Madero and explain to him 
the bad effect this would have. There were even threats 
of boycott on the northern frontier by union trainmen, 
who considered it would be an unjust act, as many of 
the men had been in Mexico since childhood, and there 

267 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

were many of them over age who couldn't get jobs in the 
United States. N. told him it was very impolitic, etc., 
etc. 

Madero thought it over and said in French: "You 
can tell the ambassador that the order very probably 
will not go into force, though it is impossible for me 
to revoke it." N. reported this to the ambassador. 
Several days afterward, on April 17th, he met Mr. 
Brown on the links. Mr. Brown said, with a smile, 
"That order went into force to-day" (Mr. B. had to sign 
it as president). N. hurried off to the ambassador, who 
was naturally very annoyed, and said N. must have mis- 
understood Mr. Madero. N. thought his goose was 
cooked; that Madero would go back on him and throw 
the interview in with a lot of other Mexican apocrypha. 

But Madero was most decent about it all and said: 
"Yes, I did tell Mr. O' S. so, but I was unable to prevent 
the order from going into force." The result has been 
that a large body of trained men who couldn't negotiate 
la lengua castellana have been obliged to leave the coun- 
try, to their own and Mexico's detriment. 

Madero's idea was to "democratize" the national rail- 
ways — i.e.y to load the system with as many employees as 
possible. At the end of the Diaz regime there were a few 
dozen competent inspectors; under the Madero regime 
they had been increased tenfold. 

The green parrot I brought from San G. is chirping 
in the next room — quite a member of the family, but 
dreadfully backward as to languages. 



XXIII 

The ^"Apostle" begins to feel the need of armed forces— A statesman 
"who is always revealing something to somebody" — Nursing the 
wounded at Red Cross headquarters 

May 4th. 

AS you will see from the inclosed clipping, posters 
-^ all over town containing the same, Madero is in 
a bad condition. Reports from Huerta's army are that 
disease, typhus, and black smallpox are rife. Bum- 
side is up there now watching operations. 

Huerta states that he will not lead his three thousand 
troops to certain death against Orozco's myriads, strong- 
ly intrenched, until his preparations are complete. Some 
kind of end is perhaps in sight. The only diplomat at 
Madame Madero's reception Thursday was the Belgian 
wife of the Japanese charge. I intended to go, but was 
trying to mend a broken night with a siesta, and it 
slipped my mind till too late. 

Battle of Puebla, May 5th. 
(A year ago to-day we landed in Vera Cruz.) 

The town is flagged and there has been a big miHtary 
parade, with the beautiful Mexican brass echoing 
through the streets. It is the most popular of the lay 
festivals, commemorating the victory of General Diaz 
and General Zaragoza over the French at Puebla (1862).! 

1 In the palace in the Sal6n Rojo is a large picture of the battle of 
Puebla, with Diaz prominently figured. The picturesque dress of the 
Puebla mountain Indians gives it a familiar note. There is nothing 
wanting to show the prowess of Mexicans, and it portrays the French re- 
treating down-hill in terrible disorder— chasseurs d'Afrique and chasseurs 
de Vmcennes giving it a European touch not in keeping with the bits of 
maguey in the landscape. 

269 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

There is a hint of "Praetorian Guard" creeping into 
the presidential surroundings, and other signs that the 
"Apostle" is beginning to feel the need of armed forces 
at his back. Appeals to virtue are not proving any 
more sufficient for government here than they would 
be elsewhere. It's the uselessness of governments try- 
ing to change the formulas of the human heart that 
strikes me most; and the Mexican heart, undisciplined, 
passionate, multiform, illustrates it so completely. 

May 7(k. 

Your letter with the Impressions d'lfalie program 
has come. I, too, long for the beautiful land. So much 
reminds me of it here, and yet there is really not the 
remotest likeness between Mexican and Italian atmos- 
phere. 

They are expecting a battle, a big one, within twenty- 
four hours. Every one and everything is hanging on the 
turn of that event. 

Madero is as simple as a child in many ways, and as 
impulsive, but simplicity isn't the first requirement for 
manipulating government in the land of the cactus. 
A Spanish proverb took my attention the other day 
to the effect that "an official who cannot lie may as 
well be out of the world," and Madero is as honest as the 
day. If language is given to conceal our thoughts, he 
makes Httle use of the covering. It is complained of 
him that he is always revealing something to somebody. 

Of course all business enterprises are deadlocked, and 
many dark, as well as light, complexioned ones, having 
"things to put through," doubtless long for inter- 
vention. 

May joth. 

Things social have "slumped" since some weeks. 
Nobody in the face of all the uncertainties feQls qqu- 

270 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

vivial or has any courage about planning for something 
that may not materiaHze in the very precarious future. 

Our bucoHc and innocent picnic at the Desierto, where 
the only harm took the shape of mules, has been turned 
into a sort of orgy by some of the San Antonio and El 
Paso papers, in which champagne, Spanish dancers, 
frisky foreign diplomats, cold-eyed and depraved Ameri- 
can "interests," are in the foreground, while the back- 
ground is occupied by a faithful but scandalized Mexican 
guard. Of such is the kingdom of history. 

The dinner that the governor of the Federal District 
gave last night for the ambassador is the only official 
thing for some time. It was the usual conventional 
Mexican diner de c^r^monie with its French menu, many 
courses, and appropriate wines for each. It does not 
give the effect of having the least resemblance to what 
they do when en famille, but presents rather a set, very 
expensive, restaurant effect. I sat between the gover- 
nor and De la Barra, who took me out. 

To his refreshment, I think, the talk revolved about 
the Eternal City rather than the eternal Mexican situa- 
tion. As ex-President of the republic he received many 
honors in Italy, decorations from the king and the Holy 
Father, and is plus catholique que jamais. Any one like 
De la B., who has practical experience of government, 
however, knows that all is not quiet on the plateau, let 
alone the situation in the north. Madame de la B., 
looking very pretty but pale, wore a handsome blue 
pailleUe dress, so good that it was doubtless got in 
Paris, en route to Rome. 

Ernesto Madero and his wife were also there. She 
loves going out, and always has a pleased, not at aU 
blas4 look on her handsome face, which is most attrac- 
tive. I imagine Don Ernesto is trds-fin with real gifts. 
We always say the Madero government reminds us of 

271 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

the Medici, with the fine arts and the strong hand cut 
out. One of them is President, one of them almost 
more than President, Don Ernesto is Minister of the 
Treasury, Rafael Hernandez, his cousin, Minister of 
Fomento. Another brother, EmiHo, is with the army, 
etc., etc., etc., down through the generally computed two 
hundred and thirty-two members. It's the most com- 
plete system of nepotism since the aforementioned 
Florentine days. 

Huerta is reported to be making good progress driv- 
ing Orozco back north of Bermejillo, where Captain 
Burnside now is. 

May 14th. 

To-night deep nostalgia possesses my heart; the 
seasons have swung round again. At four o'clock the 
first rain drenched the city. 

This morning to the Red Cross, where a solid three 
hours' work awaited Madame Lefaivre and myself, 
looking neither to the right nor to the left. A larger 
number than usual waiting to be attended to, the 
wounded coming in, not only from the real seat of battle, 
but as the results of skirmishes all round, and, of course, 
the usual casualties of the city. 

We will have a lot in next week from the battle of 
Tuesday; it takes about six days for the wounded to 
get in from the north. 

The doctors are very gentle, and the patients so very 
patient — scarcely a whimper or a groan. Sometimes 
only a contraction of the features when suffering agony. 
True Indian stoicism. The Spanish flows, and my 
"medical" Spanish is now in competition with my 
' ' kitchen ' ' Spanish . 

Madame Lefaivre and I are the only ones who keep 
to our schedule days. The Mexican ladies can't ; either 
the rooms are filled to overflowing with them, picture- 

272 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

hats coming and going, darkening the horizon, or they 
don't appear at all. 

Aliotti, the new Italian minister, has arrived, and 
was among my callers this afternoon. His beautiful 
wife is not with him, as she could not stand the altitude. 
He is just from Rome, from the Foreign Office, and is 
extremely clever. He finds Mexico somewhat far from 
his special "madding crowd." 

A letter from Aunt L. says a man from Istlaltepec had 
come dashing in a few minutes before to tell the general 
that the rebels were sacking the hacienda of Don Pan- 
filo Ruiz near Istlaltepec, the banker I met at Juchitan. 
Various inhabitants of a town beyond had been killed, 
and people were arriving at San Geronimo on foot or 
on horseback, fleeing for their lives under a broiling sun. 

The mounted troops and the infantry were got out 
and departed for the scene of trouble, and the band 
played as usual at four o'clock on Sunday, the music 
tending to calm the people, though all were wondering 
what was going on on the other side of the Istlaltepec 
hill. Five miles, it seems to me, is a little too near for 
comfort. Aunt L.'s house was surrounded by soldiers 
ready to surrender or attack. "Viva Mexico!' ' 

Several days ago a pastoral letter from the Arch- 
bishop of Morelia was pubHshed. In it he gives his 
flock the salutary advice to keep out of politics alto- 
gether. I think every one realizes that Diaz enforced 
protection for aU and everybody, and it will take years 
for things to settle down. 

There is a fair amount of politics in these letters, 
but if one happens to be so inclined one finds oneself 
taking politics in with the air. They are everywhere, 
yet it seems to me, of the threads of destiny that are 
being spun, I get only a few loose ends. Great foreign 
interests, oil, ore, and transport, play themselves out 

273 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

with many a shift and tmst, against the Mexican politi- 
cal film, shaking, unstable, distorted, now too big, now 
too small, out of proportion as they come down the 
stage or go off. But always of breathless interest. 

May 20th. 

The King of Denmark is called into another king- 
dom, where he is not king. How suddenly the sum- 
mons came, when he was strolling about Hamburg in 
the evening, unattended! The end of mortality, kingly 
or otherwise ; but I have lost an irreplaceable friend. . . . 
Peace to his soul! I am so sorry you did not see him 

on the Riviera. Do you know that too has gone? 

I remember that luncheon she gave for him in and 

didn't ask me, and how surprised and displeased he was 
when he came in for a moment in the morning and said, 
"I \\tI1 see you at lunch," and I answered, "Not asked." 
We had to laugh, it was so ridiculous. 

How tragic, too, the death of the young Cumberland 
prince with Von Grote, his aide-de-camp!^ We used 
to see them both so often in Vienna. 

The Mexican episode may be drawing to a close, but 
quUn sahef All life down here assumes a mysterious- 
ness, even in its simplest manifestation. The natural 
phenomena, the things we consider quite impersonal in 
New York or Paris or Berlin, seem to perform their 
operations here in an astoundingly intimate way. A 
sunset is a more than daily occurrence, due to the cold 
fact that the earth revolves on its axis just so often; 
that moonHght experience of last autumn remains in 
memory, and a consciousness is always with one of an 
intimacy with natural decrees. 

The faultfinding Americans who come here, and really 

love it, though they talk loudly about the national fail- 

^ The heir to the Hanoverian throne killed in a motor accident. 
274 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

ings and sigh for "honest Americans," are under the spell 
of this intimacy with the natural world, though they 
don't often analyze it; this delicious, satisfying sensation 
of being included in the operations of destiny, not being 
hung sohtarily between birth and death. 

I never look uj) at the Southern Cross without my 
heart, too, leaping uj) — and thinking, with Humboldt, 
of the lines he quotes from Dante, "/o mi vobi a man 
destra e posi mente all' altro polo, e vidi quattro stelle."^ 

The rainy season is full upon us, for which all are 
thankful. There has been a great deal of illness in the 
town, the dust-storms were unusually severe, and the 
collection of microbes carried hither and thither would 
break a microscope. The mornings seem made in heaven, 
and, after weeks of being dust-veiled, the volcanoes are 
out again in all their splendor. 

Tuesday, 22d. 

Many people calling to-day; among others charming 
Manuelito del Campo, just married to the handsome 
niece of Madame Escandon, of the Puente de Alvarado. 
They are making bridal visits. She wore a regardless 
beige gown, with Paris written all over it, and beauti- 
fully put on over a lovely, small-hipped figure. I wish 
them well. 

Mr. de S. stayed after all had gone. He is very sad 
at the disintegration of government, and in fact why 
should any Mexican be cheerful ? The past is destroyed, 

^lo mi volsi a man destra e posi mente 

AW altro polo, e vidi quattro stelle, 
Non viste m,ai fuor th'alla prima gente. 

Coder pareva il del di lor fiammelle; 
O settentrional vedovo sito 

Poi che private se' di mirar quelle! 

"PURGATORIO" I 

This is the passage that commentators take to mean the Southern 
Cross, the knowledge o£ which Dante got from Marco Polo. 
19 275 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

the present tottering, and the future hidden. He is 
always most understanding and simpdfico. 

A short, terrific thunder-storm came on as we sat 
talking and afterward everything was drenched and 
dripping in the corridor and patio. As I stood at the 
door with him we were led to talk of destinies. I said 
that, for my part, I had no hunger, all glories and all 
miseries were known to me, and I was learning to feed 
upon myself. But he remained silent, stroked Elim's 
hair, called him buert mozo, and went out. As always, 
it is each one to his own path, and one is lucky to meet, 
even for a second of time, some one going the same way. 

To-day I closed forever the covers of Strindborg's 
hideous, haunting Froken Julie, that horrid conflict of 
souls in a kitchen. But once read, can I ever wipe it 
out of memory? 

May 23d. 

The ambassador says we will all go home on a war- 
ship if "the break," as the possible event is colloquially 
known, does come. Can't you see us all stowed away, 
according to the protocol, on one of the war-ships, and 
various dissatisfactions, however carefully things are 
arranged, as to rank and previous condition of servitude ? 

May 25th. 

Orozco acknowledges defeat in the north, laying it at 
the doors of the United States. The neutrality laws 
prevented him from getting in the required arms and 
munitions. 

The government is very cheerful, full of smiles at the 
progress of the Federal troops under General Huerta, 
who have wiped out, in much blood, the blot on the 
Federal escutcheon; for Rellano, lost by Gonzalez Sala, 
is now retaken by Huerta. Orozco, in his retreat, is 
destroying railways and bridges, and there will be big 

276 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

bills for some one to foot. Huerta, it appears, has 
shown generalship of a high order. 

But I have been under gray skies, following the great 
procession that carried Frederick the Seventh to his last 
resting-place. The three Scandinavian kings, Gustavus 
of Sweden, Haakon of Norway, and the new ruler and 
son, all so tall, like vikings of old, walked side by side, 
heading the jjrocession, the first meeting of the three 
since the dissolution of the union between Norway and 
Sweden in 1905. 

Queen Alexandra, the Dowager Empress of Russia, 
and King George of Greece,^ always so agreeable, were 
there to mourn their brother, and many another of the 
familiar figures on the Copenhagen screen of memory. 
It was a breaking up of family ties to them — to the 
world, only a new king of Denmark. 

You remember that cold, bright December day, with 
its sparkling snow, and frosty, glistening trees, when we 
went to Roskilde to see the ancient church where the 
kings of Denmark sleep their last sleep? And now, on 
a May morning, to the strains of the great organ, that 
captain and that king departs whose friendship I had. 
Again, peace to his soul! . . . 

Several days ago I discovered at an old bookshop at 
the Calle del Reloj, off the Zocalo, a first edition of 
Madame Calderon de la Barca's book, 1843, Boston, 
decidedly worn as to its leather binding, but in excellent 
condition otherwise — unfaded print on unyellowed paper. 
I wish she could cast that X->leasant objective eye of hers 
on my Mexico ; I believe she would recognize the political 
housekeeping ! 

Around about the Zocalo are many second-hand shops; 
also in the Volador old books are to be found. But they 
are mostly yellowed manuscript-copies of the accounts 

'Assassinated at Salonica, 19 13. 
277 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

of the administradores on the old Spanish estates, books 
on medicines and herbs, records of lawyers' fees, and the 
like. Generally the title-pages are missing, and always 
all the engravings. 

I have a copy of Periquillo Sarniento, the "Gil Bias" 
of Mexico, but it is difficult reading for a foreigner, full 
of satiric allusions to political events of the period and 
to purely local conditions. It was published in Havana 
in 1816, when the author, De Lizardi, El Pensador Mexi- 
cano, was there to escape the consequences of his satiric 
jibes. He wrote, curiously enough, another book {La 
Quijotitd) dealing with the higher education of women, 
which, in Mexico, has scarcely been repeated in the 
hundred years. 

May 28th. 

I wonder, as I write, if you are walking the green fields 
of Rankweil; my heart accompanies you. 

Things are going on very pleasantly from day to day, 
as far as we, personally, are concerned, but the national 
machine seems clogged and creaking, in spite of the vic- 
tories in the north. 

Oaxaca is in a state of complete revolution. Six 
thousand Indians have risen, and the whole coimtry is 
seething with brigandage, flourishing greenly under the 
weak central rule. It will take years for things to settle 
down. 

On Sunday another picnic is being got up. The 
ambassador, of course, J. B. P., Mr. Butler, the Bonillas, 
Professor Baldwin, who is giving a course at the uni- 
versity here, Aliotti and Mr. Brown, president of the 
National Railways. I always take Elim for the dias de 
campo. He is quite a feature of the gatherings and good 
as gold, playing by himself. 



XXIV 

One Indian's view of voting — Celebrating the King's birthday at the 
British Legation — A single occasion when Mexican "pillars of so- 
ciety" appear — Reception at Don Pedro Lascurain's 

Sunday evening, June 2d. 

WE had a very lively picnic to-day at the Pena Pobre, 
all gathering at Calle Humboldt, where we waited 
vainly for Professor Baldwin. At last, after fruitless tele- 
phoning, we started through the shining city, out the 
Tlalpan road, past the Country Club, where the links 
were black with golfers, through the tres-coquet Tlalpan, 
to the Pena Pobre hacienda. 

I drove out with the ambassador, the Italian minister, 
Mr. Brown, Mr. Potter, and Mr. Butler. We got the 
necessary permission from the obliging administrator at 
the door of the hacienda, and then passed on through 
the lovely rose-garden to a wilder, gorge-like spot, where 
a long, weather-stained table was built under the shade 
of some eucalyptus-trees. 

The ambassadorial butler took charge of things at 
this special, strategic point, and we wandered about the 
lovely spot. The paper-mills are so discreetly hidden 
that one wouldn't know they existed. The Pefia Pobre 
is near the celebrated Pedregal, or Malpais, a prehistoric 
lava-stream, which the crater of Ajusco is supposed to 
have contributed to the landscape, and which has been 
for centuries, with its caves and retreats, the beloved of 
bandits and all shades of delinquents. Montezuma is 

279 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

supposed to have hidden there his gold and silver treas- 
ure, and Cortes is said to have found it and shipped it to 
Spain. 

As all the picnickers were in good form, we had a par- 
ticularly cheerful lunch, enlivened by the usual discus- 
sion of the perfectly patent truth that self-government 
is not native to the Mexicans. There were those who 
knew what they were talking about in the assemblage. 
. . . Don Benjamin Butler gave his touching story of 
one of his peons coming to him with a piece of paper 
and asking w^hat it said. "It says you have a right to 
vote." The peon thereupon put the artless question, 
"For whom shall I vote?" Don Benjamin further 
explained that Esteban Fernandez was the only candi- 
date in their state (Durango). "I'll vote for him if you 
want me to, but I'd rather vote for you," was the 
answer. 

It's Indian, charming, but it bears little relation to 
the simon-pure Anglo-Saxon democracy that they are 
trying to try down here. 

The party was further enlivened b}^ the curious 
case I discovered in a home newspaper of the old 
gentleman, found dead, whose body was identified 
by two sons, of around about fifty years of age, 
who had never met until the inauspicious occasion. 
For half a century he had had families in adjoin- 
ing towns. I thought he must have been a bright 
old gentleman. Mr. Potter thought he must have 
had some money, too. 

We got as far on the return trip as the Country Club, 
when it began to pour, the golfers dashing in from all 
points to take refuge in the celebrated "nineteenth hole," 
not dry, either. The sun showed itself for a moment 
before setting, and flung a few lovely flame-covered 
scarfs about the dazzling heads of the volcanoes; but 

28q 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

the world we were in remained damp and dark, and we 
turned home quite wilHngly.^ 

I found an invitation, on returning, from the chef du 
Protocole, in the name of the Minister for Foreign Affairs 
and Senora de Lascurain, for a reception at their house 
on Friday afternoon en obsequio del Honorable Cuerpo 
Diplomdtico. 

June 4th. 

Yesterday a large reception at the British Legation in 
honor of the King's birthday. The Union Jack was 
flying high over the entrance as we went in, the house 
was filled with beautiful flowers, and there was much 
health-drinking and good wishes. The official world, 
Mexican and foreign, of course out in full force, and the 
colony — altogether a very pleasant occasion, with that 
special English feeling of "empire" behind it all. 

Mrs. Stronge has been ill, but she was seeing a few 
friends up-stairs in the charming comer room, with its 
view of the volcanoes. The old quotation came, as so 
often, to my mind, Si d morar en Indias fueras, que sea 
donde las volcanes vieres. 

The pet of the Legation, a bright green parrot, or, to 
be more precise, a green, bright parrot, brought from 
Bogota, was helping her receive. I came home with the 
ambassador, who goes to Washington for two weeks over 
the northern route, and Schuyler is to "enjoy" his 
absence. Now I must close; Tuesday visitors are begin- 
ning to arrive. 

June 5th, evening. 

This morning at 8.30 I heard dear Aunt L.'s voice 
outside my door. She had arrived from Orizaba with 

* Pena Pobre has been occupied and evacuated countless times by- 
Zapatistas, and is now completely laid waste — the great paper-mills, the 
gardens, the hacienda buildings. Since writing these words a vast and 
blood-stained scroll has been unfolded, and I think many a one has 
modified his political creed. — E. O'S., 1917. 

281 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

Laurita, who has masses of beautiful red-gold hair. She 
is now sitting in a big armchair, doing nothing, I am 
thankful to say, though The House of Mirth is within 
reach when she feels like reading. So glad to have her 
here. 

June 7th. 

The reception at the Casasuses last night was a most 
gorgeous affair. He is one of the few cientificos still 
visible in Mexico City, a man of much cultivation and 
erudition. He has preserved his relations with the 
Madero family, also his money, but there is that in his 
eye which makes one feel that he has not preserved his 
illusions. 

The reception was to open his splendid new house in 
the Calle de los Heroes, which has been building since 
some years, and also for the contrat de mariage of his 
eldest daughter. A fine band was sounding as we went 
in through the zagudn. The great patio was covered 
with a sort of light-blue velum, and behind it were 
myriads of star-like lights. The great fountain was 
ablaze, too, and everything was decorated with wreaths 
of marguerites, recalling the name of the fiancee, who is 
to marry a son of the famous Justo Sierra, Minister of 
Public Instruction under Diaz. 

Madame C, large and impressive and a blaze of 
diamonds, was flanked by her two pretty, slim daugh- 
ters, very jeune fille as to dress, but rather sophisticated 
as to expression. The novia was in white, and the 
younger girl in a similar costume of blue. 

All strata of society were there, even the "pillars," 
holding up things for this single occasion; charming- 
looking and beautifully dressed women I had not seen 
before — some of that invisible chicheria I suppose; 
the official set, the military, etc., etc. There were some 
fine jewels — great plaques of emeralds much in evi- 

28? 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

dence — and one lady wore a strange necklace of very 
large, very lustrous, almost square pearls. 

The rooms are elaborately furnished in the modern 
French style. The brocade-covered walls hung with 
expensive modern French paintings. Portraits of Mon- 
sieur and Madame Casasus, by one of the great French 
artists, I forget which, were in the large pink-and-gold 
salon. The magnificent library, with thousands of vol- 
umes, the collection of a lifetime, was furnished from 
London by Waring and had long tables bearing atlases 
and big in-quarto volumes, deep leather chairs, and read- 
ing lamps, most inviting. 

The supper was lavish to a degree; it was whispered 
about that the cost of the entertainment was fifty 
thousand dollars. Madame C. presided over the huge 
square table of the diplomats, loaded with great cande- 
labra, beautiful imported fruits in massive silver dishes 
and rare flowers in tall silver vases. I was taken down 
by a general whose name I didn't get, in the fullest of 
regimentals, who had lost an arm in some one of the 
interior campaigns— I think Madero's. 

The champagne flowed; French pdtes, asparagus, all 
sorts of things which had come from long distances, were 
passed by liveried servants. Don Sebastian Camacho, 
sighting his ninetieth year, was the beau of the occasion, 
carrying his years lightly and gallantly, enfoure de dames. 
We came away at one o'clock, leaving things in full 
swing, the music and the pounding of the dancing feet 
echoing through the great patio. ^ Now I am off to the 
Red Cross. 

^ Of the Casasus house nothing but the walls remain. Everything 
has been pillaged and scattered. People have happened on an occasional 
old volume of the great library, and an occasional piece of the gilt-and- 

brocade furniture has been seen in the second-hand shops. told 

me that a matter of importance took him to the house when used as 
a barracks by Carrancistas. In the great patio were only a filthy cot 
and an old brasero near which a poor soldadera was sitting. The fountain 

283 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

June 8th. 

Yesterday Red Cross all the morning, and the recep- 
tion at the Lascurains' in the afternoon. The heavens 
opened punctually at five, and an unusually bountiful 
supply of water fell upon the sons and daughters of the 
nations en route to the function. We descended with 
the Chermonts at the door during a baby cloudburst. 

The house is a big, handsome dwelling consisting of 
one very high-ceilinged floor of rooms, with a charming 
umed railing, lifted up against the sky, and hung with 
Bougainvillea, wistaria, and honeysuckle, blooming in 
their turn. Inside it reminded me of the Carlton Hotel 
in London, but must be most comfortable to live in, 
though the Honorable Cuerpo seemed to spread out 
rather thin over its large spaces. 

Its great feature is the wonderful aviary, on the side 
away from the street, where dozens of the rarest and 
most gorgeous birds live together in peace and apparent 
happiness. Don Pedro, whose special hobby they are, 
showed them to me, but I only remember the names of 
a few, and a mass of flying, singing color. "Mexican 
caciques," the lovely yellow-and-black oriole of the 
tropics, most beautiful blue jays, much more gorgeous 
than ours, for to their brilliant coat of blue-and-white 
are added crests and plume-like tails — and huacamaias 
and parrokeets, who made their part of the inclosure 
look like carnival time. 

Mr. Lefaivre took me out to the very elaborate tea, 
spread in an immense dining-room. The baby cloud- 
burst, which in his victoria he got the full advantage of, 

was dry and full of refuse, and some soldiers were standing about waiting 
for their officer, who came in violently disputing with a woman of the 
town. From under the cot, after a few moments, the woman drew out 
a small, beautiful old chest clamped with silver and inset with coral, 
with which she departed, "the living symbol of the aspirations of the 
downtrodden masses," as one of his followers calls Don Venustiano. — 
K O'S., 1917. 

284 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

and the continual destruction of French property in one 
part or another of the repubHc made him rather pessi- 
mistic. He says they always give him the fullest prom- 
ises, when he lodges his complaints, and then nothing 
further happens any more than if he had lodged them 
outre tombe. 

Don Pedro has a bright-eyed, agreeable, clever daugh- 
ter who helped her mother receive. She brought out a 
fine linen square on which we wrote our names to be 
embroidered by her nimble fingers later on. 

I feel about Lascurain a note of sincerity and a lack 
of personal aims and ambitions. Certainly nothing save 
patriotism could have led him to accept a place in the 
Cabinet. He has wealth and position, and only fatigues 
and uncertainties, storms and dangers, await him in the 
ship of state. 

Legation d'Autriche-Hongrie, 

Sunday, June gth. 

Am writing this, as you see by the letter-head, at the 
Reidls', waiting for the picnic party to assemble. I am, 
unfortunately, always on time, a bad habit, and not 
cured by over a year of manana. 

The R.s have a sun-flooded house on the comer of 
Havre and Marsella in the new part of town, and I 
am scribbling this at the desk in the drawing-room, 
done up in yellow brocade, flower-filled and comfortable, 
and with its reminiscences of other posts in the way of 
signed photographs and bric-a-brac. 

The chiffon scarfs arrived yesterday, having survived 
the temptations of the customs, the pink, blue, purple, 
and petunia, just as you had done them up. This is the 
land of scarfs. No lady is complete without one or 
many and I will baptize the "pink 'un" at Mr. Potter's 
to-morrow night at dinner. I never go anywhere Sun- 
day evening, as after the all-day bouts in the country 

?85 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

my sofa and my books are my best friends. We are to 
go out to Xochimilco and the clans are now approaching 
to the sound of motor-horns, etc. There will be a 
repacking in of merrymakers and baskets when all 
are assembled. 

Jime loth. 

I have just come from taking Aunt L. up to Chapul- 
tepec. The view from the castle was entrancing, the 
volcanoes touched with rose and all the other mountains 
swimming, blue and purple, in the sunset light. I stopped 
at the British Legation on the way back to see Mrs. 
Stronge, who is much better. Now I must dress to go to 
Mr. Potter's for dinner. 

Jiine nth. 

I wore the petunia-colored scarf last night at dinner. 
Mr. Potter was in great form and quite outdid the 
champagne in sparkle, and we quipped and quirked till 
a late hour. My last sight was Don Benjamin Butler 
giving a few steps of the jota in the hallway. Am now 
sending Elim and Laurita with Gabrielle up to Chapul- 
tepec Park. A beautiful, cloudless, dustless morning. 
Josefina, a little paler, a little thinner, and, if possible, 
more deft, is here concocting me a tea-gown out of a 
pink satin evening dress and a white lace one. Nothing 
can be cleaned here. There is a place calling itself 
Teinturerie Frangaise et Beige — but I bade an imme- 
diate and regretless farewell to the things that returned. 

June i8th. 

Am waiting for my Tuesday callers in a really lovely 
tea-gown, constructed of the two evening dresses. Jose- 
fina may soon, however, be making robes for angels 
instead of mere mortals. 

There has been a little political upheaval. One of our 
best friends, the governor of the Federal District — i.e., 

286 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

Mexico City and suburbs — had a tilt with the Minister 
of Gobemacion, Flores Magon, with the result that he is 
no longer governor. During all the troubles Mexico City 
has been as peaceful under Rivero's regime as Zurich, 
all due to his sagacity and energy, and now the usual 
earthly reward of virtue, somewhat Mexicanized, is his. 
He was a rich hacendddo before coming into the political 
arena, and his friendship for N. has been most useful to 
all. 

June iQth. 

One of the loveliest of moms — a true "bridal of the 
earth and sky," and it is the date on which, nearly fifty 
years ago, Maximilian, Miramon, and Mejia were led 
out to be shot. 

History records that as the guard opened the heavy 
door of the prison, saying, "Ya es hora" ("The hour has 
come"), the three men stepped out into a world of sur- 
passing loveliness; no cloud was in the faultless sky, no 
wind disturbed the shining air. 

They embraced, taking a last look at the blue and 
lovely dome above. At the foot of the Hill of the Bells 
the firing-squad awaited them. They fell dead at the 
first volley. Maximilian had begged to be shot in the 
body, that his mother, in cruel suspense in far Vienna, 
might look again upon his face. His last words were, 
"Viva Mexico!" Mejia was silent. What Miramon said 
I know not, but their hearts were open to God. 

Mr. S. and his daughter, a beautiful girl, arrived early 
this morning. As we are probably soon to leave Mexico, 
they are good enough to let us stay on in our present 
quarters for the remaining time, and will occupy the 
small apartment down-stairs. I had a great bunch of 
pale sweet-peas put in her room. 

Going to Chapultepec this afternoon with Aunt L., also 
taking Miss S. and Mrs. Parraga, a Mexican friend of 

287 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

Aunt L.'s, to be presented, after which we go to Madame 
Lefaivre's. 

June 20th. 

Administration faces were wreathed in smiles at the 
reception; the Orozco revolution is not only dying the 
usual unnatural death, but it seems likely to be interred. 
General Huerta knows the value of a few well-placed 
blows, but nothing seems to stay "put" here. Nearly 
every shade of Mexican has fitted himself out with one 
or more grievances, and underlying it all is that quite 
peculiar organization of Latin-American society whereby 
one set of opinions may be uniformly expressed in public, 
while the intellectual classes, in secret, hold entirely 
opposing ones. 

A terrible downpour during the reception. From the 
windows of la vitrina, as the long, glass-inclosed 
balcony leading out of the "Salon of the Ambassadors" 
is called, Mexico City was a damp, dull thing, buildings 
and streets showing as great dark scratchings. There 
was no light in the sky and the hills were obscured by 
curtain-like, formless clouds with coppery linings. 

When we got home it was still raining in torrents, and 
we descended in the adjacent garage. In doing so I 
caught my skirts, hung in air, and finally fell to the 
ground, my dress torn to bits and myself shaken to the 
same. When I looked at my hands to see if they were 
still hanging to my wrists, I saw that my big emerald 
was missing from its setting. 

It was not simply raining. The sky was opening and 
letting the water out, and it was quite dark in the garage. 
About a dozen Indians and several employees stood 
about. I cried, "Mi esmeralda!" and we all proceeded 
to look. I was passing my hand over the floor near 
various Indian hands when suddenly / felt the smooth- 
ness of the stone. An Indian said to me, "Dios es con 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

usted'' ("God is with you")- Well, it was not fated to be 
lost that time. I have just left it at La Perla to be 
well reclamped into the setting, thankful that that com- 
panion of my wanderings is still with me. 

The sweet, full letter from Rankweil is received. I 
long to smell the sunset meadows with you. 

June 2jd, eveningi 

After a day of skimming over the valley with Aunt L., 
the Seegers, Mr. Butler, and Mr. de Soto. 

I had long wanted to go out to Huehuetoca to see the 
famous tajo de Nochistongo, the great cut in the moun- 
tains, the most interesting point of the wonderful system 
of draining the lakes of the Valley of Mexico. It was a 
problem to Aztec rulers, viceroys, and presidents, finally 
solved, like a good many other things, in the Diaz epoch — - 
and always bound up with the joys and sorrows of the 
valley. The Lake of Texcoco, the largest of the six 
lakes, hospitably receives the waters of the other lakes 
to such an extent that once it was considered to 
have a "leaky bottom," draining down to the Gulf 
of Mexico. 

There were immense floodings of the city in old days, 
and in 1607 one so great that for several years the 
streets were traversed in canoes, and the saintly Arch- 
bishop of Mexico used to be poled and rowed about, 
distributing food to the starving. 

The Huehuetoca road runs out through Atzcapotzalco, 
once a teeming Toltec and Aztec center, now only the 
haunt of Indians and an infrequent archseologist. Any 
and every turn of the soil there reveals traces of lost 
races. At the next town, Tlalnepantla, though we were 
all feeling more in the mood for general effects than 
detailed inspections, we did our duty and went into the 
interesting old church, finding it full not only of sacred 

289 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

relics, but of profane, in the shape of carved Indian 
stones and various sorts of monoHths. In the cold, 
ancient baptistry is a strange prehistoric cylindrical 
vase. 

There are still traces of the earthquake of several 
years ago, whose rendings revealed a wealth of buried 
objects. Several Indians, gathered about the motor as 
we came out, furtively drew from their knotted shirts 
some objects which properly belonged to the govern- 
ment — obsidian knives and a few masks, like those in 
the museum at San Juan Teotihuacan. We bought 
them out, and proceeded to Cuautitlan, the old posting- 
town I have written you about. 

Mr. de Soto says that tradition has it that here was 
born Juan Diego, the Indian to whom the Virgin of 
Guadalupe appeared. You see how interesting it is 
along these roads. Each step is always historic or 
legendary, as well as beautiful. The next village is 
Teoloyucan, where one branches off to go to Tepozotlan. 

Since leaving the posting-town we could see the 
belfry of the church looking pink and lovely against 
especially blue and lovely hills. The foreground was 
of maguey and maize fields stretching away to the 
mountains. Hedges of nopal, graceful willows and 
pepper-trees, and Indian life, mysterious, yet simple, 
living itself out on road and field. We were held up 
for quite a while by a dozen burros laden with fresh, 
shining skins bulging with pulque. A great deal of 
unnecessary prodding of the unfortunate animals went 
on, the usual audience appearing from the hedges at 
the noise. 

The hacienda of the former governor of the Federal 
District, Landa y Escandon, now in Europe, is out here. 
It contains most beautiful works of art, Spanish and 
viceregal, and many priceless Chinese and French porce- 

290 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

lains, these last presentations when various ancestors 
were at various French courts.^ 

We thought for a moment of asking the administrator 
to show us over it, but succumbed instead to the invad- 
ing magic of the road and the pleasant inertia of the 
automobile. As you will see, it wasn't a day to improve 
one's mind, but rather to bathe one's soul. As we got 
into the mountains near the famous "cut of Nochis- 
tongo," we spoke the name of the grand old Indian now 
a- wandering in exile, and talked of the solemn dedication 
ceremonies when the engineering marvel was com- 
pleted in 1900 under his auspices. 

In connection with the making of the "cut" and the 
canals winding through and between the lakes are an- 
cient, sad tales of forced Indian labor, drivings, expos- 
ures, and deaths; a sort of mita where each had to lend 
not only a hand, but often give a life. In the old days 
the viceroys made annual visits tO' Huehuetoca, lasting 
several days, conducted with regal splendor. 

Nature seemed inconceivably gentle and beautiful 
there, with its vistas of translucent hills, all gradations 
of green and gray and blue softly rolling, meeting the eye 
and falling away. The volcanoes were of clearest white 
in the pure air, and the shining valley was a gem set 
within it all. We stopped by a delightful old bridge 
with its battered viceregal coat of arms, a relic of the an- 
cient post -road to Zacatecas, over which a silver stream 
flowed into the Casa de Moneda (Mint) in Mexico City, to 
flow again in shining piastres across the ocean to Spain. 

I suppose I will be sony I didn't examine the "cut" a 
little more carefully, but the day was such a flood of 
soft light that details were quite swept away, so tant pis 
for Huehuetoca. As it was, we didn't get back to town 

^ These treasures were scattered and destroyed during the first Car- 
rancista occupation. 
20 291 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

till nearly three o'clock, when we repaired to the Auto- 
mobile Club where "Martinis," sandwiches and fruits, 
partaken of on the veranda, restored us, and we 
started out again to San Angel. 

A perfect afternoon, no sign of rain, and anything as 
opaque as a house seemed unspeakably repugnant to our 
souls. At San Angel we wandered about in a deserted 
garden-like orchard. Roses, heliotrope, and lilies mingled 
with fig, quince, apricot, peach, apple, and pear trees, and 
soft crumbling pink walls inclosed them all. Beyond were 
more beautiful blue hills linked to those of the morning, 
and now swimming in the afternoon haze the volcanoes 
towering above in a splendor of mother-of-pearl. 

These old Mexican gardens are beautiful beyond 
words, but I think one must feel the magic of them in 
the flesh — not out of it — to know the full enchantment. 
Later we went into the inn, once a great monastery, 
now transformed into a "hotel with all modern con- 
veniences," as the prospectus says, and where, for a 
moment, I thought of going when we first arrived. 

Some of its ancient beauty is left; old chests and 
ecclesiastical chairs, and long, carved refectory tables 
fill the corridors, and pictures of saints and priors hang 
on the thick walls. There is a charming patio sur- 
rounded by cloisters, where monks once walked, saying 
their breviaries and their beads, and where now tables are 
placed from which tourists renew and strengthen the flesh. 

Above is a terrace bounded by a lacy, intertwining 
design of grayish-pink balcony. In the center of the 
court is an oval double-basined fountain, with a little 
palm planted in the middle of the top one, and water- 
lilies in the lower one. Masses of crimson rambler were 
in their last luxuriance, and shining lemon and orange 
trees, with fruit thick upon them, grew in the little 
flower-beds. There is a large, new, glass-inclosed room 

292 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

where the proprietor, quite a character, Hkes to have his 
patrons go. A corner of the old refectory was sacrificed 
to do this modernizing, but we had the tea served at a 
table in the patio, and watched the patch of blue sky 
get pink and the colors of the flowers darken. When we 
finally turned homeward in an indigo-colored world it 
was to find the volcanoes like two great flaming torches, 
casting strange lights upon the dark-blue earth over 
which we sped. Nothing but night could have induced 
us to leave the beauty of it all for brick-and-plaster 
man-made dwellings. 

Ju7te 27th. 

Professor Mark Baldwin and Mr. Butler came for 
lunch — and very pleasant. The appHcation of the 
American mentality to the elusive Mexican equation 
is always a more or less stimulating process, and one 
generally feels comfortably, somewhat smugly, superior 
in spite of the fact that one never gets beyond the X. 
Professor Baldwin sent me his book, The Individual and 
Society, made up of lectures given at the university here, 
and dedicated to Ezechiel Chavez, Sub-Secretary of Pub- 
lic Instruction. It is most interesting and I am posting 
it with this. 

June 2gth. 
Peter and Paul's Day. After which our beloved friend used to leave 
Rome. 

A sweet letter from Aunt Louise inclosing one of dear 
Mr. Stedman's poems, "The Undiscovered Country." 
I have tucked it into my mirror, where I can look at it 
while having my hair done. It begins: 

Could we but know 
The land that ends our dark, uncertain travel, 

Where lie those happier hills and meadows low — 
Ah, if beyond the spirit's inmost cavil, 

Aught of that country could we surely know, 
Who would not go? 
293 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

Aunt Louise was just back from church, and the text 
made a sacrilegious smile overspread my face, "Look 
to the hills whence thy help cometh." 

Trouble is what comes from the hills here. However, 
I will blight no illusions when I answer. She had picked 
a single, beautiful Carl Bruschi rose in its perfection 
from her rose-corner, to put upon the Sunday dinner- 
table, with a bit of feathery green. I can see her doing 
it and "rescuing seedlings from the clutch of weeds," 
and dusting the peach-tree, and straightening the holly- 
hocks, and "feeding much upon her thoughts." 

With her letter came a long letter from Senator 
Smith, and his Titanic speech in full. 



XXV 

Orozco and his troops flee toward the American border — A typical 
conversation with President Madero — Huerta's brilliant campaign 
in the north — The French fetes — San Joaquin 

July 4th, 4 p.m. 

HOME from a motor trip and luncheon with Aunt L. 
at the Country Club, and now getting ready for a 
rather inexplicable reception at Chapultepec. In the 
evening there is to be a big theatrical representation to 
celebrate the glorious Fourth. 

July 5th. 

Orozco^ and his troops are fleeing to the north toward 
the American border. When we got up to Chapultepec 
yesterday we found out that the fact that it was our 
"Fourth" had been overlooked in the governmental 
rejoicings. Finally, however, the situation cleared, and 
there were congratulations all around, everybody free 
and equal, we congratulating them because of the defeat 
of Orozco, they congratulating us on general and special 
principles. Bulletins had been coming in all day about 
Orozco' s flight from the battle-field of Bachimba, with 
General Huerta in full pursuit. Madero appears still 
untroubled, but he has grown visibly older. "Uneasy 
lies the head that wears the crown," even if it is in the 
clouds. 

Refreshments were served at small tables on the great 

1 Orozco was arrested with General Huerta by the United States au- 
thorities on June 27, 191 5. A few days later he escaped his guard at 
El Paso, and shortly afterward was killed during a raid on the border. 

295 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

terrace, but the strangest wind came up, and everything 
was blown about, table-cloths flapping, vases over- 
turned, and an uncanny, transient darkness falling. The 
immensely tall man, Adolfo Basso, Intendente del Pa- 
lacio — ''beber Toluca 6 no beber" we call him, looms high 
at every reception. 

I was glad to see Madame de Palomo there. She is of 
the "other set," which appears sometimes for charity, 
but not for Maderista social happenings. She is the 
head of the Mexican Red Cross, and I have seen her in 
that way. She has an old house in the Colonia de San 
Rafael, Calle Icazbalceta, once fashionable, and some 
interesting old furniture and bric-a-brac. One very 
elaborate and beautifully carved confessional, in her 
family for generations, illustrates the history of St. 
John Nepomuk. In an artistic flight of fancy on the 
part of him who designed it, the head of the king is 
represented peeping in through a convenient aperture 
at the back, trying to hear what the queen confides 
while at confession. It's not very theological, but it's 
human and, from the point of view of the collector, quite 
unique. 

Mrs. Wilson and I had rather a typical Mexican 
conversation with the President. It was a propos of 
Cuemavaca, which the Zapatista scares have always 
prevented me from visiting. To-day, as we stood 
talking with Mr. Madero, he said, "Order is now 
complete," and added that the Zapatistas were well 
in hand. We then said we were immensely relieved, 
as we wanted very much to motor to Cuernavaca. 
He assured us it was perfectly safe and wished us a 
pleasant journey. 

I had barely got home when Carmona cams over from 
the Foreign Office to say that the President begged the 
ladies of the American Embassy to postpone their trip, 

296 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

as it would be better not to run the risks of travel on 
unfrequented roads just now.^ 

To-day the soft-voiced Zambo that brings me objetos 
antiguos appeared with several handsome old coins, 
and an embroidered shawl, a mania, white on pale 
saffron. This last is now hanging out on the little ole- 
ander terrace to be sunned and aired, and the three 
coins have been scrubbed. One was of him of the "Iron 
Horse," Carolus IV 1792 Dei gratia Hispan et Ind., Rex, 
showing his receding forehead, aquiline nose, and pleased, 
voluptuous Bourbon mouth; his ear is deeply stamped 
with a counter-mark. 

It appears these coins are still to be found throughout 
the Orient; each banker through whose hands they 
passed would stamp his own little mark on it. The 
other was more ancient and bore the date 1741 with the 
device "Utraque Unum,'' showing the pillars of Hercules 
surmounted each by a crown, and two hemispheres in 
between, joined by another crown. This was Philip V.'s 
modest device. There was also a little medal of the 
Virgin of Guadalupe, so defaced (I suppose it had been 
worn around generations of necks) that I could scarcely 
see the date, which appeared to be 17 10. 

All this seems very simple, but any foreigner living in 
Mexico would know that I had had a "good" morning. 
How the objects came into the possession of the co- 
mercianie en objetos antiguos would be quite another 
story. 

1 A young mining engineer lately come out of Mexico on one of the 
intermittent trains, over the once favorite northern route, tells me that 
everywhere the stations are destroyed. Overturned rolling-stock lies 
rotting in the ditches; at one point where the fuel gave out the train- 
men got down and chopped up the seats remaining on what once had been 
a station platform, and at another a Pullman car was smashed and fed to 
the engine. What intending travelers and the stockholders in the com- 
pany think of Carranza's passion for reconstruction is said to be too fierce 
for expression! — E, O'S., January, 19 17. 

297 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

Mexican numismatic history is as romantic as its 
mining history, and bound up with it. Effigies of va- 
rious rulers of the nation appear and disappear with a 
dramatic but disconcerting rapidity. The Iturbide 
coins are extremely rare, but I saw one the other day, 
and it is on them that the eagle and the cactus first 
appear. On the other side, around Iturbide's bold pro- 
file with projecting jaw, is graven Augustinus I Dei 
Providencia, 1822. Now we have simply the eagle and 
the cactus, and the redoubtable word "Libertad" 
stamped in the Phrygian bonnet. 

July ph. 

To-day we picnicked at the Casa Blanca, out beyond 
San Angel. It belongs to an Englishman, Mr. Morkill, 
now engaged in business in South America. When we 
got there, in spite of explicit telephonings, there was no 
key to be had. One person went to fetch the caretaker, 
who lived quien sabe where, and some one went to fetch 
him and so on, an endless chain. We must have been 
outside for nearly an hour, looking up at the loveliest 
and pinkest of walls, above which showed tops of palm- 
and fruit-trees and delicious known and unknown vines. 

Finally, a very old woman and a very young boy 
appeared with the key to the door of that especial para- 
dise, and we went in, with a loud sound of locking after 
us, and a ''Pues qui^nsabef" in a belated, breathless mas- 
culine voice. The garden, as all unfrequented gardens 
in Mexico are, was a riot of loveliness. We spent an hour 
wandering about its enchantment, and some one quoted 
that lovely poem — 

A garden is a lovesotne thing, God wot! 
Rose plot, 
Fringed pool, 
Fem'd grot — 

The veriest school of peace — 
298 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

interrupted at this line by appropriate and all too ready 
jibes about peace in Mexico. 

Within the larger garden was a sort of inner taber- 
nacle, a sun-bathed, inclosed fruit-garden — peach and 
quince growing with orange and lemon and fig, and the 
little pathway was fringed with lilies. The house showed 
the unmistakable quick results of inoccupancy here ; the 
doors sagged, the windows stuck, and it was dismantled 
of most of its furniture. 

We got out some tables and spread our luncheon in a 
little mosquete and jasmine-blossoming porch, even with 
the ground, opening from one of the salons. Continual 
whifEs of perfume came from the garden, and the air 
was now damp with threatening rain or indescribably 
brilliant as the clouds passed. Mrs. Wilson brought 
some especially good things in the way of jellied chicken 
and one of the large cocoanut cakes for which the 
Embassy is famed. Mr. Potter's motor we called "the 
cantina," for obvious and refreshing reasons. 

Afterward, while we waited for the rain to pass, we 
went to the mirador, built in a corner of the high wall of 
the bigger garden, overlooking the maguey-fields, which 
stretched away to the lovely hills, on which great, black 
shadows were lying between sunlit spaces. When we 
came down we picked armfuls of flowers, and there were 
some particularly beautiful trailing blackberry sprays 
with which we innocently decorated ourselves, but which 
I have discovered left indelible marks on our raiment. 
As we filled the motors with wet, sweet, shiny flowers and 
leaves, we sighed that the owners of anything so lovely 
should be so distant. 

July isth. 

The Schuylers have gone — a week ago — and N. is at 
the Embassy bright and early these mornings. The 
ambassador is more and more pessimistic, and there 

299 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

is a huge amount of work to be turned over every 
day. 

The situation is heavy with responsibiUty for him, and 
the road thorny and full of the unexpected. Am now 
waiting for Madame Lefaivre, to go to the Red Cross. 

Bumside has returned from the north, where he has 
been with General Huerta's army. He says Huerta 
conducted a really brilliant campaign against Orozco, in 
spite of illness among the troops, smallpox, typhus, etc., 
and the difficulties of communication. The amiable sol- 
dadera deputed to look after his morning coffee, with her 
nursing baby in her arms, asked him, with unmistakable 
intent, the first day, if he would have it with or without 
milk. Needless to record, he took it black. 

July 15th. 

The French fetes are beating their full at the Tivoli 
Eliseo. They seem to celebrate the 14th of July from 
the 6th to the 20th. The Lefaivres invisible, except to 
their colony. For the sake of la nation amie, I put 
my head inside yesterday — and was met with a cloud 
of confetti and swarms of vendeuses. Bands were play- 
ing, and there was dancing at one end, and everywhere 
a lively selling of objects for the French oeuvres de hien- 
faisance in Mexico. The celebrated Buen Tono cigarette- 
manufactory had outdone itself in generosity, its booth 
being the clou. 

Last night there was a patriotic performance at the 
Teatro Colon. Kilometers of tricolor and a very demon- 
strative colony filled the huge place to overflowing. 

We got there just as the Mexican national hymn was 
sounding, and the President and his wife, with the Vice- 
President, were being ushered into the great central 
loge, where Monsieur and Madame Lefaivre were wait- 
ing to receive them bowered in red and white and blue 
flowers and lights, with a great tricolor floating beneath. 

300 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

After the last singing of the "Marseillaise" we went in 
to speak to them and found the President saying to the 
minister: "C'est Liberie, Egalite, Fraternite que je vou- 
drais voir dirigeant les destinees du Mexique,'' while a 
look as remote as the poles came into his eyes. Mon- 
sieur Lefaivre, for the sake of the vast French interests 
to be safeguarded, has always cultivated the friendliest 
relations with Madero — hoping against hope that the 
situation may develop elements of stability. Madero is 
obsessed by French political maxims, but without any 
understanding of that very practical genius which enables 
the doux pays de France to turn ideas into actualities. The 
Encyclopedists, however, are having quite a revival in 
''glorious gory Mexico." We came home unconvinced, 
yet vaguely hopeful, under a blaze of constellations set 
in wondrous relief against great black spaces. 

July 17th. 

I have just closed George Moore's Ave Atque Vale. 
A new book by him continues to be a delicious intellectual 
repast. I read it in rather a miserly manner, knowing 
there cannot be many more, not tearing its heart out as 
I so often do with books. He is nearing the inevitable 
departure on that last journey — and he will not return 
to write epigrams about it. 

July igth. 

I am scribbling this in the lovely old patio of San 
Joaquin, out beyond the hacienda of Morales, sitting on a 
comfortably slanted grave-slab, on which I can just dis- 
tinguish a bishop's miter and a faint tracing of the date — 
17 something and requiescat in pace. Delicate mosses, 
bits of cactus, and a tiny, vine-Hke, yellow flower make 
it a thing of beauty. 

Madame Lefaivre and Elsie S. are sketching; all is 
peaceful, sun-flooded, with much singing of birds, and 

301 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

the trees are dropping solid bits of gold through their 
dark branches. There is a fine old five-belled belfry 
that pierces the perfect sky; the top bell and one of the 
next lower pair are missing (in what vagary of Mexican 
history they disappeared I know not). 

This was once a Carmelite monastery, and still has a 
wonderful garden and a celebrated peach and pear and 
chabacano orchard. The wall inclosing the orchard is 
so high that scarcely anything green grows tall enough 
to show above it, though the mirador has a few vines 
twisting about it. The wall, however, is beautiful in 
itself — pink, crumbling, sun-baked, with moss and flow- 
ers and bits of cactus clinging to it, and a fruity odor 
was wafted over to us as we passed on the broken, ditch- 
like road with the motor at an angle of forty -five degrees. 

There is a large space, planted with live-oaks, outside 
the patio of the church with its lovely, broadly scalloped 
pink wall. Once through the carved door, one is as if in 
a bath of sun and beauty. Before another time-worn, 
carved door leading into the church stand two straight, 
black, immemorial cypresses. The inside wall of the 
patio has, here and there, an old carved coat of arms 
cemented into it, and colored growing things abound. 
The live-oaks outside bend above the scalloping of the 
walls, on which are ancient numbers above flat-carved 
symbols for the "Way of the Cross." 

Elsie chose a corner inside, and Madame Lefaivre is 
sketching outside, so I got the guardian, who is also 
the administrator of the orchard and hacienda, to unlock 
the church. Several gilded Churrigueresque altars still 
remain — intricately designed, time-softened, lovely, and 
on the altar steps were some charming old candlesticks, 
five or six feet high, in the same lovely style of gilding 
and twisting. How they have remained there during a 
century of suburban vicissitudes I know not. Various 

302 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

saints in ecstasy, San Joaquin in special, were por- 
trayed, almost life-size, their garments floating, fall- 
ing, blowing about, with the special unquiet but lovely 
Churrigueresque touch. Winged, open-mouthed cheru- 
bim and seraphim hold up the vaulting with its wealth 
of lovely, conventional motifs; throughout Mexico, in 
churches where everything else is gone, one finds the 
out-of -reach vaultings intact. 

There is a school of a sort, held in what was once the 
seminary behind the church; and some barefooted, 
bareheaded, and otherwise scantily clad wrestlers with 
the "three R's" came out from one end of the church 
and passed through, followed by their teacher, a shabby, 
bored-looking young Mestizo of doubtful cleanHness and 
dubious competency. 

Calle Humboldt, Later. 

1 left you in the patio of San Joaquin. When I went 
to see how the artists were progressing, I found them both 
looking miserable and discouraged. No "fine frenzy" to 
the roll of their eyes, though they were "glancing from 
heaven to earth." The beauty here isn't one to record 
on canvas, rather on memory and soul, which, having 
remarked to them as gently as I could, they began to 
clean their palettes. 

We took a last, regretful look at all the pinky loveli- 
ness, the tiled dome, the silent belfry, the slender heads 
of the two straight, coal-black cypresses, and the inex- 
pressibly lovely wall, wrapped ourselves about with the 
shining air, and bumped homewards. "Quick, thy tab- 
lets, memory." 

Jtdy 20th. 

We dined last night at the Ernesto Maderos' in their 
handsome house in the Paseo, large enough to lose the 
six children in. Madame M. has been in mourning 

303 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

(something that seems to happen to women oftener in 
Mexico than in other places) and now is "out" again. 

The official Mexicans spare no expense on the occa- 
sions when they open their houses, but it is always with 
ceremony, without individuality; enfln Mexicans receiv- 
ing foreigners. The Riedls were there, and the Simons; 
I have an idea Mr. S. finds his task a big one. He rarely 
goes out, but this, to the Secretary of the Treasury, was 
strictly within his orbit. Madame Simon wore a beauti- 
ful black paillette govvn,-w{\h subtle touches of "point de 
Venise," recently out from Paris. 

She has driven us all nearly crazy, anyway, with the 
ravishing croquis and echantillons DrecoU and DoeuiUet 
have been sending her, and which lie, temptingly, among 
the latest French reviews and newest books on her table. 

I sat by Lascurain, talking pleasantly of things not 
political; that ground is volcanic and no place for for- 
eigners, even well-disposed. The new Belgian charge, 
Letellier, was on my other side. 

A letter to-day from Madame de la G. from Chalons- 
sur-Marne, where the Marquis is in command of the gar- 
rison. She will always be, to me, typical of the grandes 
dames de France as they have appeared throughout the 
centuries — those highly born, highly placed, highly cul- 
tured women with many natural gifts, whose wit and 
beauty are the common heritage of us all. 

I bear that picture of her in her armchair, so beauti- 
fully dressed, especially in that white chiffon gown we 
liked so much, with a single dusky rose at her slender 
waist, her dark hair so perfectly coife, her charming 
welcoming smile, with its hint of suffering borne, remote 
from miseries, yet knowing pain. I can see the back- 
ground of bookcases; near by her shining tea-table, 
and the little low table with its vase of flowers and 
bibelots, and the latest book with a paper-cutter in it, 

304 




Photograph by Ra\-en 



MEXICAN NUNS GOING TO MASS 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

or some consoling volume whose pages were cut by other 
generations.^ 

With a change of costume, change of hours of visits 
and dinner, she pictures to my imagination Madame de 
Sevigne writing to Madame de Grignan, Madame de la 
Fayette talking to La Rochefoucauld — all that flower- 
ing of an elegance of mind with its roots of culture, not 
alone in books, but in the heart. Her mind is receptive, 
yet so giving, her conversations so sparkling, with its 
Jond of philosophies and politics, its richness of nuance, 
its elastic impersonality, yet French, though dipped in 
a thousand dyes and run in a thousand molds. 

Her three boys go into the army, and of Marguerite 
she says: "Gretl est vraiment mon ange gardien, ne me 
quittant jamais, et me soignant, toujours gate, toujours 
devoueey 

''Chalons etant a deux heures de Paris, les amis viennent 
facil'ement." She gave me news of the Paul Festetics, 
who had recently been there — "Fanny toujours V esprit 
aussi alerte et aussi charmant'' ; of the De B.'s, to whom 
my heart goes out, " Tres-courageux, mais vous pensez si 
c'est dur de coniinuer une route ainsi ravagee'' ; and for me 
"Nos chemins se Croiseront-ils jamais a nouveauf It does 
not look like it, helas." 

July 2ist. 

This evening, from the hill of Tepeyac, I watched the 
sun go down into a world of purple shadows rising from 
the mysterious plain of Anahuac. The valley had been 
stretched out before us like a chart, the hills in light and 
shadow. We could name each glistening road leading 
from the great city, and yet, little by little, one suc- 
cumbed to the mysteriousness of it all — until the whole 
spectacle became an inner rather than an outer thing. 

^ Marquis de la G., then military attach^ at the French Embassy in 
Berlin. 

305 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

No rain except for some silver clouds with strange, 
fugitive effects, just before sunset, that sifted a diamond- 
like rain for a few minutes over the face of the plain. 
No wind, but something like a great, cool breathing was 
about us. 

We passed by the richly tiled Capilla del Pocito (Chapel 
of the Well), of which he who drinks returns, and went 
up the romantic old stone stairway leading to another 
chapel. Half-way up are the celebrated "stone sails of 
Guadalupe," their origin dateless, the hands that put 
them up unrecorded. They can be seen for miles about, 
and near by they have a helle patine, and m.osses and 
bits of cactus and a flower or two grow from them. 
They commemorate the escape from sea perils of Mexi- 
can mariners who had prayed the Virgin of Guadalupe 
to bring them safely into port. When this had come 
about, tradition has it that, continuing to believe after 
they were safe in Vera Cruz, they fulfilled their vow by 
bringing up on their shoulders the rigging of their ship, 
afterward encasing it in a covering of stone. 

There are hooded, shrine-like resting-places as one 
goes up the broad, fiat steps between the beautiful, high- 
scalloped wall, often a Via Dolorosa, for a cemetery is 
on the very top behind the chapel that was built on the 
spot where Juan Diego gathered the flowers, suddenly 
springing up to be given as testimony to the unconvinced 
bishop. 

A great wooden cross is in the little atrium, and we 
found an Indian family sitting about it, eating their 
supper, wrapped in their colored blankets, doubtless 
preparing to spend the night "at the foot of the cross." 
There was once a temple to the Aztec Ceres, ' ' Tonantzin, 
our Mother," on this same spot. 

In the cemetery lies buried the body of Santa Anna, 
he who led his troops against ours. 

306 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

There is a continual operative magic, some peculiar 
proportioning of the subjective and the objective here, 
with correspondences between the seen and the unseen 
forever making themselves felt. 

The domes and spires of the city shone in the after- 
noon Hght. Where one once saw the great aqueducts, 
and the still more ancient canals, now rise the slender 
steel frames bearing the wires of the hght-and-power 
company, charged in Necaxa, a hundred miles away, 
down in the Hot Country. The lakes were yellowish- 
silver mirrors, the eternal hills swam in their strange 
translucence, the great volcanoes pierced a lovely sky; 
all quite relatable, except just what it is that pulls your 
soul out of you as you look upon the deathless beauty 
and think of the dark, restless, passionate races whose 
heritage it is. 

As we turned to descend the old stone way, the shin- 
ing city afar was as if suddenly dipped in purple, but 
the sky above was of such pure and delicate tints — 
lemon, saffron, and pale pink — that we wondered whence 
the "Tyrian" purple could have come. We drove si- 
lently home in a many-colored twilight. 

July 2jd. 

Yesterday I found a curious book, "par un citoyen de 
VAm^rique meridional ("by a citizen of South Amer- 
ica") (vague enough not to get him into trouble), called 
Esquisse de la Revolution de I'Amerique Espagnole, Paris, 
1817. 

It is a saddening, mighty spectacle, the presentation 
of that immense area in the throes of revolution. A few 
enHghtened viceroys at Mexico, Bogota, Buenos Aires, 
might have saved the day. They were not ready for 
self-government, but for Spain the hour had sounded 
when she was to lose her great colonies; and Mexico, 
the dearest, the richest, the most accessible, the most 
21 307 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

beautiful, was to enter on her century of horrors, hero- 
isms, sacrifices — and the end is not yet. 

I feel at times as if I were behind the scenes of 
a mighty drama. I have read so much that I know 
many of the repliques; have sorted some of the 
red threads of the century-old plot, and, if I am not 
behind the scenes really, I am in a sort of avant-scene, 
where some of what goes on behind the curtain can be 
surmised. 

This is the second summer of books read to the 
pouring of tropical rains. Mr. S. has brought me sev- 
eral volumes of Jean Christophe — VAuhe, La Revoke — 
unread before and deeply relished. With all his other 
gifts, Romain RoUand ^ has the international mind 
and keeps his seat extremely well, a cheval as he is, 
between France and Germany. To-day I finished Le 
Buisson Ardent. During two strange, restless after- 
noons, I followed Anna's story in the darkness of the 
tropical downpour, an earthy freshness coming up 
from the flowers in the patio, and a sound of heavy 

water falling from rain-spout and roof. 

July 27th. 

A lovely morning on the roof with E., drying our hair 
in matchless sun, looking at the volcanoes and talking. 

She said I reminded her of the art nouveau inkstand, 
that for my sins I won at bridge the other day, which 
has the hair drawn down to the feet of the figure for the 
pen to rest on. She looked as if she had stepped out of 
some lovely old Persian tile with her masses of dark 
hair standing out about her handsome head. There is 
a poet brother, whose portrait of some years ago hangs 
in one of the rooms, a large-eyed, straight-featured boy, 
with a speculative forehead and remote eyes. 

1 Et comment fera celui qui a re(U du sort le don superbe et fatal de voir 
la verite, et de ne pouvoir pas ne pas la voir? — Romain Holland, Vie de 
Tolstoi. (January, 1917.) 

308 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

From what I gather, he is evidently a genius, not 
meant for harness, feeHng the world owes him a living 
(which it probably does), that he may toss off a sonnet, 
when so impelled, or feel free to read Euripides in some 
choice edition bought with his last dollar, in the com- 
pletest insouciance as to the date and amount of the 
next remittance. He used to take long, lonely, timeless 
walks about these hills and valleys, reappearing after 
hours or days, with a poem that he wouldn't show, or 
a thought not convenient in family life.^ 

' Killed in battle at Belloy-en-Santerre, July, 1916. 

A friend and companion of Alan Seeger's Harvard days, Pierre Abreu, 
himself extraordinarily fitted for the understanding of the "humanities" 
in every sense, told me of him one windy twilight ciossing to France on 
the Espagne that autumn after his death. I had just seen, in my North 
American Review, that most charming of all his poems, "I Have a Ren- 
dezvous with Death." 

He was evidently a free, romantic being, Latinized in temperament and 
mentality, receptive and creative. Abreu met him first at a Sophocles 
course — he was a brilliant, original classical scholar, with an elasticity 
of culture that made him also able to translate a gem of Clement Marot, 
or Ronsard, into perfect form at sight. For the impressionable years of 
gifted adolescence, what more suggestive setting than that magnetic 
valley of Mexico? 

Now he lies in France. His high, adventurous spirit was meant for 
wars and chances, doubtless in the old, romantic sense of battle. 

"Heroes battling with heroes and above them the wrathful gods." 

For this type there could be but one consummation. But it seems to 
me all can be fulfilled as well at twenty-eight as at threescore and ten, 
and the completion of no man's destiny is dependent on his years. — 
E. O'S., January, 1917. 



XXVI 

Balls at the German Legation and at Madame Simon's — Necaxa — A 
strange, gorge-like world of heat and light — Mexican time-tables — 
The French trail 

August i^ih. 

UNWONTED festivities here. For two nights run- 
ning we have "tripped the light fantastic." Night 
before last Madame Simon gave a big ball, and last 
night there was one at the German Legation. The 
dancing world was out in full swing, bumping into a 
varied assortment of wall-flowers, tropical and tem- 
perate. 

Handsome favors and elaborate suppers at both these 
hailes de confianza, and the later it got, the wilder and 
more spirited became the music. I gave the coup de 
grdce to the pink velvet Buda-Pesth court dress at 
von H.'s. 

The Benoist d'Azy are here from Washington. It 
always adds to the gaiety of nations to have etrangers de 
distinction make their appearance. They have all the 
interest of events. It isn't often the capital sees two 
smart balls, one after the other. 

A long-expected box of suits and things from Peter 
Robinson's for Elim has just arrived. He didn't fancy 
trying on, and in the struggle asked me suddenly "Who 
was Jesus Christ's tailor?" I was a bit taken aback. I 
must say I had never put those words or ideas together. 

When I recovered my mental activity, I told him 
that Jesus' Mother made his clothes for him, whereupon 

310 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

he answered: "These only came from London," and 
wouldn't lift his feet from the floor when I wanted him 
to try on some little trousers. He doubtless needed a 
spanking which he didn't get. Mama was feeling' 
decidedly slack after two nights of dissipation at an 
altitude of nearly eight thousand feet. Madame Montes- 
sori says a psychological change comes over children at 
the age of six. I look forward to it. 

Necaxa, State of Vera Cruz 
Aligns t 2jd, 
Station of the Light and Power Company. 

I have only time for a word. We arrived here at five- 
thirty, after a twelve-hour journey through indescrib- 
able beauty. We left the house in a clear dawn — Rieloff, 
the Seegers, Burnside, and myself — and all day have been 
winding through mountain passes, deep barrancas, with 
a sound of rushing waters, and great foresits of pine-trees, 
red and white cedars, and delicate ferns almost as high, 
through which our little geared-locomotive would have 
seemed a pioneer had it not been for the sight of the 
delicate steel towers that support the wires of the Light 
and Power Company. 

In the afternoon great masses of shifting light flooded 
broad valleys or stamped the heights with shining patches 
as the rain-clouds passed and repassed between brilliant 
bits of sunny heaven. We came as the guests of the Light 
and Power Company, and the manager and chief engineer, 
an Englishman, Mr. Cooper, met us and brought us to the 
club-house, very comfortable, according to Anglo-Saxon 
ideas, with easy-chairs, verandas, etc. After a bounti- 
ful repast, according to the same ideas, we walked about 
the Httle plateau, in an enchantment of changing Hghts, 
till night suddenly fell and everything was blotted out, 
and we bethought ourselves that beata soliUtdine was 

311 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

the only fitting finale to it all. We have planned a full 
morrow, which is near, so good night. 

Sunday, 25ih. 

I did not write yesterday. In the morning Mr. Cooper 
took us down to the dynamos, reached by a cog-railway, 
through a great, dark tunnel-like incline with a bright 
speck of Hght at the far end. We issued out of the cool 
dimness to find ourselves in a strange gorge-like world 
of heat and light, with a great mass of falling water, the 
distant edge of the waterfall outlined against a high, 
shining heaven; against it, again, thousands of small, 
brilliant blue butterflies, and on all sides the most gor- 
geous plants and trees. There was an effect of some 
circle of Paradise, and something mysterious and magic 
in the very practicaHty of it all, when one thinks that 
these falls, nearly six hundred feet high — and a hundred 
kilometers from Mexico City — supply the light and motor 
power of the town. 

Doctor Pearson is the genius who controls it all, and 
his name is breathed with awe at Necaxa.^ As we stood 
looking up at the falling waters, bright birds and heavy 
scents about us, "the white man is lord and king of it 
all," I kept saying to myself. 

To-day has been still fuller. In the afternoon we 
visited the great dam that is just being finished to pro- 
vide an immense storage reservoir against the dry season. 
Water is as precious as gold in Mexico, and in many 
places scarcer. 

Some one remarked that there seemed to be little or 
no manana about it, and Mr. C. told the story of 
one of his first experiences in Mexico, when he was still 
under the spell of the time-table. 

* Dr. F. S. Pearson, to whose genius this astounding engineering feat is 
largely due, lost his life on the Ltisitania. 

312 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

He was waiting at a station where the only passenger- 
train was scheduled to pass every day at 9 a.m. He 
arrived at the station a few minutes before nine, to see 
the train just disappearing. On complaining to the 
jefe de estacion about this running ahead of time, he 
received the bland response that it was yesterday's 
train that had just passed out and there was every 
reason to suppose that the train of to-day would be 
delayed, perhaps as long! He cooled his heels till the 
next dawn. But Necaxa wasn't built at a cost of a 
hundred million pesos on that principle, he added. 

We had started out after breakfast to explore the 
"French trail" — a son of Gaul was once owner of 
Necaxa — ^plunging perpendicularly over the side of the 
little plateau, to find ourselves on the most romantic 
of footpaths, formerly the only road through the gor- 
geous wilderness. 

It got hotter and hotter as we descended, and though 
Rieloff kept insisting that, technically, we were not 
yet in Tierra Caliente, all its abundancies seemed to 
surround us: giant ferns, ebony and rosewood trees, 
lovely orchids hanging from high branches, convolvuli 
of all colors; and under our feet mosses, by the yard, 
of rare and lovely fabric, each patch holding a world 
of tiny forms and tints. I started to follow one bit of 
morning-glory vine, but was obliged to give it up. I 
could nor bear to break it, and it would have led me, 
like an endless thread, through a labyrinth of sarsa- 
parilla, myrtle, and fern. 

The brightest of birds and butterflies were flying 
about — the sort of things one finds under glass in 
northern museums — and a huge, scarlet flower of the 
hibiscus type was everywhere splashed over the green. 

Here and there an Indian appeared from quien sahe 
where. It was all his and yet not his, 

313 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

We came up in the cool dimness of the cog-railway, 
and after cold douches and luncheon, enlivened with 
entomological discussions (that lovely -v^dlderness is alive 
with invisible biting specimens), we went with Mr. Cooper 
to the reservoir. 

We have spent the evening mostly meeting the officials 
of the company and playing bridge. (!) Though it 
was the least noblesse oblige allowed, it seemed a lot after 
the long, full day — on paie ses plaisirs. . . . 

However, they were all so nice and so pleased to 
see people from the outside world that, once in our 
"bridge stride," it wasn't so hard. Rieloff, who hates 
cards, after a while went to the piano, bursting into 
''Du meiner Seele schonster Traum" — ^following it up 
with the "Moonlight Sonata"; so, in the end, we 
found ourselves sitting in a dimly-lighted room, with 
Beethoven floating out on the soft Indian night — 
and all was well. 

I am dead with sleep, and early to-morrow we depart. 

42 Calle Humboldt, 
August 26th, late evening. 

We were awakened at 5.30 in a dawn of such exceed- 
ing beauty that, as I stepped out into it, I was tempted 
to fall upon my knees rather than hurry to our Httle 
train. On one side were the hills, so veiled in splendors 
of filmy pearls and blues and pinks that their forms 
could only be imagined; on the other was an abyss of 
gold and rose and sapphire into which our train was to 
plunge. 

All day long we went from glory to glory; but I got 
home to find that something human and dreadful had 
happened in my absence: Little Emma C, playing over 
the roof with Laurita and Elim, escaped for one unex- 
plained second from Gabrielle — fell from it to the stone 

3H 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

patio — her fall, for an instant, broken by a balcony 
railing. 

I hurried to her mother's. The child is alive, but 
dreadfully injured, and, it is feared, for Hfe. Nature 
was too beautiful at Necaxa not to exact some sort of 
toll from those admitted to it. I am dreadfully upset. 



XXVII 

A luncheon for Gustavo Madero — Celebrating the Grito at the 
Palace — The President's brother explains his philosophy — Hacienda 
of San Cristobal — A typical Mexican Sunday dinner 

September 3d. 

THE funcion I gave yesterday went off with a good 
deal of snap. Everybody in town was there, and 
the house filled to bursting. Elsie S. and I brewed the 
classic Grosvenor punch ourselves and arranged masses 
of flowers everywhere. Probably it will be the last 
gathering I shall have, sic transit, etc. 

Madame Madero came with her two sisters-in-law. 
She seems more worn, thinner, and older; a year heavy 
with anxieties has passed over her since I first saw her 
in the flush of hope and triumph at the German Legation. 

The Porfiristas — all the old regime — hold the United 
States responsible for Madero's success, because of our 
permitting him to organize and finance himself on our 
border, and there are others who think, rather para- 
doxically, that it is due to us that he has not had more 
success. 

As for the Maderistas, they don't understand any- 
thing, feel no obligation to us, and wonder why we don't 
do more. The active anti-Maderistas feel very bitter 
that in any revolt aimed against Madero they can't 
"use" the border. Nobody has any political love for 
us. We loom up as uncertain in our mode of action, 
but powerful as arbiters of destinies. 

I have not been watching as carefully as I might the 

316 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

great, threefold presidential race at home. It's a con- 
soling thought that any one of them will make a good 
President and under any one of them the United 
States will pursue its vast and brilliant destiny. Me- 
thinks, however, as regards two of the candidates, 
that, after the White House, no other place can ever 
really seem like home. 

September 4th. 

Luncheon here to-day for the Gustavo Maderos. He 
came in with rather more energy and magnetism than 
usual, and kept things lively. He produced from his 
pocket and presented to the various assembled guests 
some small, gilded statues of St. Anthony, in little 
glass, bottle-like reliquaries. He said San Antonio was 
his patron saint, and quite frankly stated that he was 
superstitious. 

His wit is of the ready kind — readiness in all things is 
doubtless his greatest quality. He seems not only ex- 
cited by his prosperity and prominence, but intoxicated 
by it all. There is no gainsaying the fact that he does 
give a magnetic hint of possibilities by that abounding 
energy and life, overflowing and communicative, if he 
only wouldn't give the effect of taking everything in 
sight for himself or his friends. He is continually en- 
veloped in clouds of incense by the expectant who form 
his circle. 

There are questions, from time to time, of the seven 
hundred thousand pesos he got from the treasury for 
the expenses of the revolution, but, to do him justice, 
it appears there are national, as well as family reasons 
which make it inexpedient for him to fully explain. 

As he was smoking his cigar in the library after 
lunch he said to me, with an intellectual flash: "Sefiora, 
we Latin-Americans think of everything you think of, 
but we don't put our thoughts into action. I am differ- 

317 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

ent. When I decide on something I act immediately, 
which is why I ought to succeed." 

I thought there was a whole world in that remark. 
One of the difficulties here is the turning of their very 
brilliant ideas into action at the psychological moment. 
Madame Gustavo M. is handsome in a rather more 
artificial style than the other dynastic consorts. She 
has done something to her hair. But all the Madero 
women have qualities of good looks, freshness, and 
amiability. 

As they said good-by, standing on the veranda, the 
perfect square of blue heaven above us, I thought how 
typical Gustavo Madero was of Latin-America in many 
of its aspects, and that he was gifted with some quali- 
ties not often found here. He is above medium height, 
with reddish-brown hair, and inclines to the flashy in 
dress and gesture — the type of the clever rasta. He is 
known as ojo parado, but after lunching with him., on my 
right in that sun-fiooded dining-room I couldn't tell 
which was the glass eye and which the mortal orb. 
They were both of an astounding brilliancy. 

September nth. 

The War Department orders two regiments of regulars 
to the Mexican border to reinforce the soldiers on duty, 
but they don't like it down here. The Intransigente, liv- 
ing up to its name, had an editorial which rather took 
our breath away, to the effect that nothing can be done 
while the American fist is threatening Mexico. 

It speaks in the name of every Indo-Spanish nation, 
decrying the smiles of ambassadors and the hypocrisy 
of official notes, and saying that our affections, at the 
best, can only be diplomatic, that we can have treaties 
for the carrying on of commerce, etc., — that anything 
where the spirit of the two peoples does not touch can 

318 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

be provided for. But "our soul is against their soul, 
their cupidity against our pride; our faith is the Latin 
faith, the faith of the Scipios and the Guzmans; oheirs 
is the fides punica of the Maine and the Panama Canal!" 

Now that what all really feel has been said, perhaps 
the air will clear for a day. I had some time since con- 
cluded, with Thomas Jefferson, that "the press is a 
fountain of lies," but this was for once the crystal truth. 
The colUgues were quite excited about it, and I have no 
doubt the statement was sent in full to their various 
foreign offices as indicative of the underlying sentiments. 

Mr. Stronge, who is most conciliatory, and a natural 
uniter of factions, somewhat belying his Irish blood 
(when I asked him, "Irish diplomacy, what is it?" he 
didn't know the simple answer, "See a head, punch it"), 
considers this only a passing flare-up. But quien sabe, 
quien sabe? 

September i6th. 

We went, last night, to the palace to celebrate the 
Grito, and again I saw those tens of thousands of 
upturned faces, as we stood upon the balcony over- 
looking the Zocalo. 

I was taken in to supper — the usual ceremonious, 
standing affair — by the Minister of War. He showed 
me a telegram confirming the capture of Orozco, who 
was not captured at all. They are very previous about 
accepting congratulations concerning good news, whether 
true or false. The President was receiving felicitations 
all the evening, and the Minister of War said, "We will 
of course shoot him immediately if Los Estados Unidos 
will extradite him." He was supposedly to be taken 
on American soil. This morning we saw there had 
been a big defeat of the Federal troops; El Tigre mine 
taken, etc. 

Prince Auersperg was at the palace, too. He was try- 

319 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

ing to interest the Mexicans in a patent cartridge-belt, 
just the sort of toy they all naturally love. I referred 
him to the Minister of War, and turned to the "green 
isle of Cuba" on my other hand. 

Afterward, as I watched the vast concourse, I felt 
a serrement de coeur. A something came out of the 
crowd — a quality of uncertainty, destructiveness, force, 
suffering, heroism, irresponsibility, persistence. The 
words of Holy Saturday recurred to me, ''Popule meus, 
quod fecisti tu?" What have you done, — ^what will you 
always do? 

There is a something so irresistible and strong in 
life here. They are simply ground out, these genera- 
tions, renewing themselves with terrible ease. The 
begetting, the mother-pain, the life pilgrimage, the 
death-pains — there is such an abundance of it all, but 
though just as tragic and mysterious, not as unlovely 
as in the slums of great cities. 

I am to press on to other things. What can one do, 
save leave it to God? But I felt unspeakably sad as I 
turned back into the great sala, where I saw the pale, 
illumined face of the priest Hidalgo looking down upon 
it all from its heavy gold frame. I stood by Mr. Lefaivre, 
as we were waiting for the motor, and he said, "II 
[Madero] veut gouverner avec des vivas.''' It is the situ- 
ation rather in a nutshell. 

I am sitting out here in the park, with only this scrap 
of paper, which is so crisscrossed that you won't be 
able to read it. But, oh! this heavenly, washed morn- 
ing — this freshness of light filtering through the trees! 
Elsie and Elim are coming in sight, making such a 
charming picture across the green spaces with the glint- 
ing sunlight — a magic world. 

My "day" this afternoon, and then dinner at the 
Embassy. The Schuylers return shortly. I have told 

320 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

Gabrielle to put out the white satin dress. Its days 
are numbered, Hke mine. 

September lylh. 

Last night a great crowd at the station to say good- 
by to Senor Rivero, former governor of the Federal 
District. He has now been sent as minister to Buenos 
Aires, and goes via Spain — a rather zigzag route ; neither 
he nor his wife nor any of the six children nor accompany- 
ing servants were ever out of Mexico before. 

Again in the park; shining, fresh, the band playing, 
the children running over the grass with their butterfly- 
nets; but I must go home, as I am having people for 
lunch. 

September i8th. 

Some one is playing the "Liebestod"; it floats in through 
the open windows. It is now nine o'clock; my thoughts 
are turning from this strange and gorgeous Indian 
plateau to other climes — to things my spirit is familiar 
with. Madame Lefaivre is pressing me to go with her 
on the Espagne. We would like to make the voyage 
together. 

Played bridge this afternoon at her Legation with 
Auersperg and De Soto. Mr. Lefaivre and Elsie S. 
immersed in chess. It was raining the proverbial "cats 
and dogs." 

It is very pleasant seeing Auersperg — some one with 
all those traditions, and yet who has been through the 
American mill. A German-speaking lunch yesterday — 
Von H., Auersperg, Riedl, Rieloff . Auersperg regaled us 
with a description of his fiist and only eating of an 
iguana, a sort of cross between a lizard in looks and a 
pig in taste, at some hacienda near Cordoba. He was 
screechingly funny and sang: 

"iVwr die Jugend gieht uns Schwung, 
Nur die Liebe macht uns jung." 
321 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

A far-off look replaced the twinkle at any reference 
to Vienna. He is short and stout, but the God of wit 
lives within, looking out of his brown eye, smiHng about 
his wide mouth, and he carries with him an atmosphere 
of deep kindliness at all times. He departed from 
Vienna in his earliest youth, came to New York, studied 
medicine, got his diploma "all by himself," which shows 
the pluck and ability which may be concealed under the 
cover of the "first society" and "protection." Baroness 
R. left last week. 

I see that Demidoff has been appointed minister to 
Greece, where he will find a Russian queen. Athens is 
fortunate to have him. 

Last night we had supper at the Gambrinus restaurant 
with the Gustavo Maderos, the Darrs, and Colonel Edu- 
ardo Hay, this last a figure of the Madero revolution. 

The place started out by being a German affair, but 
no matter what nationality opens a hotel or restaurant 
here, it ends by being Mexican. Gustavo Madero 
repeated his famous remark that of a family of clever 
men the only fool among them was chosen for Presi- 
dent. He has a sense of humor that does not care 
much who or what it demolishes, and a sort of prevision 
about a joke. 

He incidentally spoke of El Cocodrilo; when I 
asked who the individual might be, they told me it was 
Diaz! How terrible is the stuff of dreams when it is 
spilt over a whole nation ! It sometimes seems as if the 
entire government had eaten marihuana} Gustavo 
Madero was elected Deputy in the last July elections, 
and has the majority in the House where he "wants" 
them — under his thumb. 

He was amusing, but cynical (as he well may be), about 

the cry of "free land," saying that it would engulf, in 

^ A Mexican herb inducing insanity. 
322 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

the fulfilment of its high purpose, any man in any party 
starting out under its banner. "And the people won't 
get the land," he added; "they never do, anywhere. It 
isn't only in Mexico, as foreigners seem to believe." 

We caused a cloud to come over his face when we 
asked if he were soon starting for Japan. He has been 
delegated to thank the Mikado for participation in the 
Diaz centenary celebration of 1910. You see how fast 
Mexican events move, and how infinitely unrelated to 
one another they sometimes are ! He said, with a rather 
sharp look in his eye, that Japan was muy lojos (very 
far), and it certainly is far from these Mexican political 
fields, apparently white for the harvest.^ 

September 21st. 

Recently a band of Mexican regulars made the jour- 
ney from El Paso, via the United States, to some point 
in Sonora. Several of the more up-to-date papers at 
hom.e are worrying for fear, unless our Monroe 
Doctrine be more extensive and comfortable, the "house 
guests " won't stay. There is one consoling aspect to the 
Zapatista outrages, as far as Madero is concerned. They 
always relate to his own people, and so can be dismissed. 
But the outrages in the north are not so easily disposed 
of where American and Mexican meum and tuum is 
involved. 

A letter from , dreading life, fearing death. His 

is a ravaged existence and "pain's furnace heat within 
him quivers." I sent him the inclosed verses, which 
came to me in the night. It is the simplicity of death, 
after all, that is its wonder. 

^ Gustavo Madero was apprehended, as he was lunching in this res- 
taurant in the Avenida San Francisco in company with General Huerta, 
February 18, 1913, and was shot while attempting to escape early the 
next morning. Vide A Diplomat's Wife in Mexico. 

22 323 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

To 

Why should I fear to die? 

When all I love do tread 

Among the quickened dead? 
If they, then why not I? 

If their wills have reposed 

From acts the sense hath known, 
Why then myself alone 

Affright and uncomposed? 

Shall I not rather deem 

If they give back no groan, 

They He not there alone, 
In some cold, heavy dream? 

But have returned home. 

As one at eventide 

By his swept fireside 
Sitteth, but not alone. 

So steadfast are the laws 

That bind us each to each, 
They scarcely give us pause 

To weep that which they teach. 

Sunday evening. 

A long day. N. is at the Embassy; the house is quiet, 
except for water still dripping heavily from the roof. 
My Mexican sands are slipping, and this morning my 
eyes looked their last on the so-familiar beauty of the 
plateau. Early Mr. de S. and Mr. S. and myself started 
out from the city, down the shining Avenida San Fran- 
cisco, through the Zocalo, past the palace, through the 
Calle de la Moneda, where the French troops entered in 
1863, out past the San Lazaro station, on to what was 
once the ancient Aztec causeway. 

There we met three fishermen, clad only in small 
breech-clouts, with long poles over their shoulders, on 

324 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

each end of which were small nets full of little fish. They 
were moving along silently, swiftly, the sun glistening on 
their wet bodies, just as from the night of time dark 
men have moved over that causeway. 

We passed the sim-baked Fefion Viejo, with its clump 
of trees, its bits of cactus growing on its grassy sides, and 
the old Church of Santa Marta on a farther hill. On 
one side the road is bounded by the white tequesquite 
shores of Texcoco, with little piles of soda gathered up 
at intervals. On the other are the green, sweet-water 
shores of Lake Chalco, and the little lake of San Martu, 
so near the Texcoco lake that there is just room between 
for the railway and the motor road. At Los Reyes, 
about eighteen kilometers out of town, we branched off 
to Texcoco over a highway running through maize- 
planted fields, under the great cypresses and eucalyptus- 
trees of the Hacienda de Chapingo, along more com- 
fiel(is, till we bumped into Texcoco. 

The usual Sunday market was in full blast around the 
portales of the Plaza, and there was a coming and going 
in the old church as I stepped in for a moment. Here 
Cortes lay by his mother and his daughter for over one 
hundred and fifty years. The little near-by chapel, 
with its antique baptismal font, was built by the Con- 
queror himself, and shows how limited were the means 
he had at his command when bivouacking in the "Athens 
of Mexico." As I bid farewell to these scenes of his 
romantic deeds and the long-time resting-place of his 
venturesome heart, I bethought me of his watchword : 

For el rey infinitas tierras 
Y por Dios infinitas almas. 

We went on toward the beautiful little village of 
Magdalena, entered through some wonderful plantings 

325 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

of organos cactus, and at the entrance was the little 
pink-and-blue pulque-shop, with its motto, so true of 
all things earthly, ''Paso a paso se va llegando.''^ 

The sun shone through the cypress and eucalyptus 
in the atrium of the lovely old church, and Indians, 
in clean, white clothes were going to Mass. There was 
an assortment of wide, flounced petticoats, quite strik- 
ing in these days of tight skirts. All was as I had first 
seen it, except that, some feet would never tread these 
paths again, while others were beginning to toddle 
about, and nature had blossomed and reblossomed, 
and I myself was to pass. That was all. 

As we went on we seemed, for a while, to lose the 
volcanoes, but higher up on the great ridge they showed 
themselves again in all their splendor and the air got 
quite cold, communicating a sensation of excessive 
lightness and purity. The hills around are bare of 
vegetation. 

Mr. de S. said that the first conquerors wanted to 
make the beautiful plateau resemble in all things the 
Castilian soil, which in so many places is arid and tree- 
less. However that may be, every authority the country 
has ever had has taken literally "a whack" at the trees, 
till these hills are bare and dry. Great stony, waterless 
gorges separate the immense stretches of maguey — end- 
less, symmetrically planted fields, stretching to barren 
hills, from which the French, during their occupation, 
cut the last timber. 

There is a feudal aspect to the old, high, wall- 
inclosed haciendas, with their battlements and turret- 
holes, always the belfry of a chapel showing above. 
Everything that is needed for the life of the Indian — 
which isn't much — is contained within their walls, 
together with the much more costly and complicated 

1 "Step by step one reaches the end." 
326 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

machinery of the pulque industry. "Pulque fino de 
Apam'' is inscribed on each Httle blue-and-pink cantina. 
The view, as we turned back, was enchanting, showing 
us Mexico as it appeared to the conquerors when Cortes 
first looked upon it and called it "La mds hermosa cosa 
del mundo" ("The most beautiful thing in the world"). 
Beyond — far beyond the enchanting hills to the east, 
is the drop into the land of coffee and pineapple and 
banana and a thousand heavy scents unknown to this 
thin air. 

Gorgeous but ominous masses of clouds began to roll 
up on the wide horizon, and shortly afterward over the 
shining green plain moved a misty wall of fast-approach- 
ing rain, and there were deafening peals of thunder, with 
great white flashes of Hghtning. In a moment, it 
seemed, even before the chauffeur could button down 
the curtains, we were deluged, and the road was a rush 
of gray water, with a pelting of hail on the motor-top. 
Some Indians, in the long, thatch-like capes of grass 
that they wear as raincoats, passed us — the water 
dripping from the bamboos on to their bare feet. 

Then began a slipping and skidding down the hill and 
a search for the nearest shelter. The view toward the 
great Apam plain was dark and splendid, with here and 
there a heavy bar of hght falling on the fields of maguey. 
At last we found ourselves within sight of the rather 
sizable village of Calpulalpam, and decided to ask 
shelter at the San Cristobal hacienda known to Mr. 
de S., slipping down the hill in a second cloudburst that 
made the auto feel like a fly in a millrace. 

In inconceivable mud, not even an Indian in sight, 
we went in through the great gate in the feudal-like 
waU, with a church of baroque design built into it, 
where we found ourselves in a roughly paved court 
with an old fountain. The gate was fortunately near 

327 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

the entrance to the dweUing of the administrador, sl 
Spaniard, as the administr adores nearly always are. 

He welcomed us warmly into la casa de ustedes, 
appearing with El Pais in his hand. He pressed us to 
stay for the comida. We delicately answered that we 
had sandwiches, and only wanted shelter, but we al- 
lowed ourselves to be persuaded. His once-handsome 
wife shortly appeared, dressed in a white sack and a 
blue rebozo, accompanied by several boys and a really 
beautiful girl of about eighteen, and we all went into 
the long, low-ceilinged dining-room. The administrador 
and his spouse sat cozily side by side, the children near 
them, and we three at the other end, together with a 
friend of theirs — some local functionary. The room was 
dusky, the windows curtained outside by sheets of water, 
but the table was bountifully spread with such a typical 
repast of well-to-do Mexicans of that class that you v/ill 
be interested in the menu. 

We began with a sopa defrijoles,^ followed by plates of 
hot tortillas, and a big dish of rice decorated with fried 
eggs, slices of fried bananas, and bacon. Mole de gua- 
jolote^ was the pidce de resistance.^' I inclose the 
receipt for it, which Madame Lefaivre sent me the 

1 Bean soup. 

2 Turkey stew with Chile gravy. 

Receipt Jor the famous "mole de guajolote" 
Pepper and salt Cinnamon Grains of sesame 

Chile ancho \ 

Chile mulato > Three kinds of peppers 
Chile verde ) 

Anis Almonds One piece of chocolate 

One piece of sugar Laurel Cloves 

All ground separately on the metate, then ground together and put into 
the saucepan, where the turkey already boiled is waiting, cut up in bouillon. 
I don't know if mole must be made from the second joint of the 
turkey leg, but my pieces always prove to be that when scraped. The 
sauce is so thick that the anatomy is completely masked when one helps 
oneself. 

328 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

other day. Taking it from the philosophic point of 
view, it is the image of their poHtics; mel^, melo, mole, 
and the result very indigestible. 

Pulque was served in lovely old engraved glass-jars, 
and was very Hberally poured out to us in only sHghtly 
smaller glasses. It was the far-famed Pulque fino de 
Apam, but seeing that we did no more than politely sip 
in spite of all the urging (if one could lose one's sense of 
smell, one could go ahead), the administrador disappeared, 
and came back with a dusty bottle of Xeres of some 
old mark. 

There were various sweets on the table: cajetas de 
Celaya,^ celebrated all over Mexico, guava jelly, and a 
sweet looking somewhat like it, called mcmbrillate, made 
of quince-juice. The little local functionary seemed 
somewhat annoyed to find us there. I suppose he 
looked on that Sunday dinner as his special appear- 
ance, and strange people had come in and monopolized 
the stage. His contribution to the conversation was 
the complaint that when Americans come to Mexico 
they continue to speak English. I pointed out that 
most of us would give half our kingdom to possess in 
return la lengua castellana, and that we did not all use 
it all the time because we couldn't. At this point Mr. 
S. humbly said he was speaking what he thought was 
Spanish, and he answered, "You are an exception," but 
he continued a somewhat muffled conversation with Mr. 
de Soto. 

The more I looked at the daughter the more I saw 
she was of an extraordinaiy loveliness; not Spanish, not 
Indian, but some third thing — was it Arab? — showing 
distinctly through these two. She looked at us as if we 
kept the keys of the gate of heaven, i.e., escape from the 
hacienda. The only door open to her, however, is mar- 
1 Boxes of sweets from Celaya. 
329 



DIPLOMA!': : DAYS 

riage, and that will lead to a stone wall, as far as horizon 
is concerned. 

She said she longed to see Mexico City, if only once, 
and asked me about the tight skirts — hers were long and 
flowing. Enfin, she is ready for life, but the functionary 
seemed to have a proprietary eye on her. 

They were all as nice and pleasant as possible, and so 
hospitable. After lunch we made the rounds of the 
hacienda buildings. The family to whom the vast estate 
belongs must have been absent not only one, but two gen- 
erations — from the look of the rooms. It was the quintes- 
sence of "absentee landlordship." 

We went through what seemed acres of corridors and 
half-dismantled rooms, with an occasional piece of good 
furniture or an old, faded brocade curtain. The library 
had rows upon rows of yellowing books and countless 
volumes of accounts of bygone administr adores of the 
estate, the same thing that one finds piled up in every 
bookshop in Mexico City. In the days before it was 
easy to get away, some one, however, had loved the 
classics, for one case was full of richly bound Latin 
books. 

There were numberless fascinating little courtyards. 
One had a cypress-tree pressed against an oval, barred 
window; another, only half -inclosed, had a fig-tree 
growing higher than the top, and out beyond was the 
great Apam plain, light and cloud rapidly passing over 
the green, maguey-planted stretches. There was some- 
thing sad and lovely about it all, and Guadalupe seemed 
a sort of "Mariana in the moated grange." There were 
vast granaries, too; wheat growing easily at this alti- 
tude, in addition to the pulque. 

We went at last into the little chapel where there 
were some old, carved prie-Dieu, covered with faded 
brocade, and the altar was a charming example of 

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DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

Chumgueresque, with small, gilded saints in elabo- 
rately carved and gilded niches, surrounding a large, 
central figure of Saint Christopher. It was all, some- 
how, melancholy-inducing, and made us remember that 
the "whole round world is but a sepulchre," as Neza- 
hualcoyotl put it. 

We took a photograph of Guadalupe, standing on a 
Httle outer stairway leading to the entresol, where the 
family sleep and the girl dreams her dreams. I was only 
sorry some Prince Charming had not been with us. She 
had a distinctly yearning expression as we drove away 
into the great world; there was, probably, far back, 
some venturesome blood, but she will doubtless get the 
functionary. 

September 2gth. 

Last night, one of Von Hintze's big dinners. He has 
been such a good friend from the first, and we have been 
a part of all his dinners, which have been many. Paso 
d paso se va llegando, and this is likely to be the last. 
I felt as if I were back in Vienna, as Auersperg sat on 
one side of me and Riedl took me out. A handsome 
Captain Bazaine was also there. That name found in 
Mexico awakens historical thoughts, and now that I am 
to leave it all, perhaps forever, the least tap on memory 
and a thousand things spring into consciousness. 

Mrs. Stronge presided; Hohler was there, the Hugo 
Scherers, Mr. Carlos de Landa, Mr. Hewitt, the Von 
Hillers, and we played bridge till late. Conditions are 
going from bad to worse here, and I feel an increasing 
sadness at leaving all this touching, appealing beauty 
of Mexico to the powers of darkness, or if not of dark- 
ness, of such uncertainty that evil only can come. 

The "Apostle" has become the mono de Coahuila. 
The favor of repubHcs is more short-lived than that of 
princes. How true a word La Rochefoucauld spoke when 

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DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

he said, "On hue et on bldme la plupart des gens parce que 
c'est la mode de les louer ou de les bldmer." 

Gustavo, ojo parado, would perhaps like to be Presi- 
dent, and feels himself superior in intelligence and will 
to his brother, who is, as a fact, decidedly under his 
dominion. 

If "Panchito" did not feel that he is upheld by the 
world of spirits, and I should add by a passionate, reso- 
lute consort, he might abdicate; everything here is 
possible except peace, and it is still "up" to the heavens 
to perform miracles and so relieve the Mexicans them- 
selves of the tedium of installing a stable government. 



XXVIII 

Good-by to Mexico, and a special farewell to Madame Madero — Vera 
Cruz — Mexico in perspective 

October ist. 

WE take the Mexico of the Ward Line on the loth. 
So sorry not to be going with Madame Lefaivre 
straight to France, but we think it will be well to wrap 
the Stars and Stripes about us for a space. 

This is only a word. I sit among open boxes in what 
will never again be my home, ' ' things I have known and 
loved awhile." Through it runs my Mexican etape, my 
"rosary of the road." 

October jd. 

Madame Lefaivre and I have each received diplomas 
and testimonials from the Red Cross, and a very polite 
note from Madame de Palomo. It was a curious and 
salutary experience in things human. 

The ambassador sent N. a really beautiful letter of 
appreciation. He has a quite perfect epistolary turn — 
finished off by a very chic signature, and has been all 
that a chief could be during the long, strange Mexican 
months, while Mrs. Wilson has been the kindest, most 
considerate of friends. 

October sth. 

This morning I went up to Chapultepec to say good- 
by to Madame Madero. As I drove up the winding 
way in the white morning the flowers were shining 
softly along the embankments, the trees were feathery, 
unsubstantial, the birds singing "like to burst their lit- 

333 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

tie throats." It might have been the road to Paradise 
instead of to the abode of care. 

I went in through the great iron gate, the guard 
saluting, across the flat, stone terrace where some 
cadets were at drill, and got out at the glass doors 
leading up to the big stairway. The President was 
standing there as I drove up, his auto waiting to take 
him to the palace to a Cabinet meeting. I thought he 
looked slightly — very slightly — troubled, though I had a 
feeling that his head was still in the morning clouds of 
the dazzling day. He wished me a bon voyage and prompt 
retour and drove away. Our personal relations with 
them both have always been most friendly.^ 

I imagine there has been little or no change in his 
psychology along the lines of practical statecraft. His 
true habitat is the world of fancy, where he feels himself 
protected and led on by benign powers as definitely as 
was Tobias by the angel. A state of mind like that can 
be very compelling, and he may witness what the unkind 
say is his pet ambition — his own apotheosis. 

The dim progression of Mexican events seems to have 
left his spirits untouched, though his fleshly being must 
be a mass of black-and-blue spots from the hard facts 
he bumps into. "One man with a dream at pleasure," 
but I felt like leaving him a pocket edition of Le Prince. 

I thought Madame Madero showed the strain of that 
climb from obscurity and prison up the via triumphalis 
to the presidential peaks. The flood of morning light, 
as we sat on the terrace, did not spare her worn and 
anxious face. I have an idea that she is very practical, 
but it is not her practicality, but her husband's dreams, 

^ Francisco I. Madero and Jos6 Maria Pino Suarez were killed when 
being transferred from the palace to the Penitenciaria on the night of 
Saturday, February 22, 1913. Vide page 215, A Diplomat's Wife in 
Mexico.— E. O'S. 

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DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

that brought them to Chapultepec. It's a situation to 
discourage common sense. 

She was, as always, courteous and friendly, but a 
puzzled look was on her face, and I felt that there were 
questions that she would have liked to put to me, that 
the circumstances forbade. We spoke of the work she 
is just now especially interested in, for the amelioration 
of the Mexican woman's lot — the organizing of the lace 
and embroidery industry, a la Queen Elena, in Italy, 
several years ago. There is a really lovely product here, 
the drawn linen, work — deshilados, it is called — introduced 
by the Spaniards and practised through generations in 
cloisters and religious schools. 

She told me that in Puerto Rico one hundred thousand 
women had been organized, and she wanted to do the 
same here, asking me if I could not interest people in 
New York in the industry. 

I felt how frail her body, but how determined her will 
as we embraced in the dazzling morning. About us 
was the perfume of the rare and lovely shrubs of the 
patio, the splash of the fountain, the singing of birds, 
the lustrous hills, the shining volcanoes; that crystal 
air enfolded us, closer than human touch, but beneath 
us was the restless city and the shifting will of the 
Mexican people. 

On board the Mexico in Vera Cruz Harbor. 

October loth. 

We got down last night over the International; so 
many friendly faces at the station — une belle gave — 
reminding me of the unforgetable going away from 
Copenhagen. The Minister for Foreign Affairs, and 
the Chej du Protocole, nearly all the colleagues, Mr. 
and Mrs. Wilson, Aunt Laura, and many American 
friends were there. 

335 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

The train departed at last without the slightest warn- 
ing, but, the hour being at hand, we were standing near 
the steps, and as it quite slyly began to move out I 
was pushed into it by friendly hands with my load of 
flowers. Various other passengers had only time to 
scramble into the baggage and rear cars; and so, 
without any sound except those of friendly adieux, 
we slipped out of the station into the starlit valley, 
toward the hills that hold the splendors of this Indian 
world. 

I had a feeling as of some one who leaves treasure 
behind, and the thought that my eyes will probably 
never again rest on the beauty of Mexico gives me a 
clutching at the heart. "Heureux ceux qui n'ont pas vu 
lafumee de la fete de Vetr anger et qui ne se sont assis 
qu'aux festins de leurs peres." 

It is seventeen months since we landed, but changing 
governments have not changed Mexico. 

On arriving, at 7.30, we repaired to the Arcades of the 
Hotel Diligencias of somewhat branded reputation, in 
one of the little rickety cabs. If its back flap is loose, 
you have a lovely breeze. If not, you feel as if you 
wer«»kin a "hot country" not of earth. 

I asked for tea, but when it was poured out I decided 
'twere better to do in Vera Cruz as the Veracruzanos 
do, and ordered, as a farewell tribute, "chocolate Mexi- 
cano," which, though it brought my own temperature 
up to the boiling-point, was very good. 

The dissolving sensation is not unpleasant after hav- 
ing one's nerves screwed up to the last turn by all those 
"high" months. Something thick and stiff, in very 
small cups, being served on an adjacent table to a couple 
of indigdnes, was "chocolate espafiol." 

Afterward I went across the palm-planted Plaza, 
that I had only seen in the dim light of my arrival, 

336 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

to the old cathedral — wind-swept, sun-enveloped, rain- 
deluged, the patine of centuries making it lovely be- 
yond description, with its flying buttresses and quaint 
gargoyles, and its pink belfry, in which swing old, 
green-bronze bells. 

Inside, the modem Veracruzanos have let them- 
selves "go" as regards art. Cheap stained-glass win- 
dows, "made in Germany," and realistic portrayals of 
saints in agony, one more appalling than the other, en- 
cumber the chapels, and, I hate to record it, only paper 
and tinsel flowers were on the altars. But I turned my 
thoughts to One who walked upon the waters, and 
prayed for a safe voyage. 

They tell me there are fish as beautiful as flowers to 
be seen in the market, but instead of continuing the 
investigation of Vera Cruz in the garish light of its 
October day we went back to the ship. On our way 
we met an Oxford friend of N.'s, a young Englishman, 
perfectly turned out in spotless white, who might have 
been called suddenly before the viceroy (I find myself 
getting a little wild) without the slightest change in his 
raiment. He hadn't spoken with one of "his kind" for 
weeks, and was not expecting any one. England's true 
conquest of the world, it seems to me, identity, habits, 
customs, unchanged by that most potent of all alchemies 
— the tropics. 

The German and Russian ministers take the Mexico 
as far as Progreso, whence they depart on some 
sort of hunting expedition, and promise aigrettes and 
similar vanities. "We have all been sitting on the breezy 
side of the boat, sipping lemonade, talking of Mexico in 
perspective and "letting him who will be wise." Vera 
Cruz is a memory of color, green and pink and white, 
merciless sun, refreshing breeze, and the Veracruzanos, 
of all shades and origins, coming and going, carrying on 

337 



DIPLOMATIC DAYS 

their heads the abundances of earth and sea. I post 
this in Havana. 

October 12th. 

Last night, in the dim prow, some Indians were chant- 
ing in mournful, waiHng voices, a half-sensuous, half- 
imploring air of sad peoples. As it floated toward me in 
the soft, thick darkness it possessed me with its melan- 
choly — but I must trim my lamp for other nights. 



THE END 



t 



y 



